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O H O 




The Princess 

and other Poem s 



Alfred Lord Tennyson 

POET LAUREATE 

VIGNETTE EDITION. WITH ONE HUNDRED 
NE W IL L US TEA TIONS 



Charles Howard Johnson 



3-3 




NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

MDCCCXC 




J' 



Copyright, 1890, 
By FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY. 



/z-^fs^y 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Princess ; A Medley 

Prologue i 

Part I 12 

Part II 23 

Part III 43 

Part IV 60 

Part V 85 

Part VI 109 

Part VII . . 127 

Conclusion 143 

To the Queen 149 

Juvenilia : 

Claribel. 152 

Nothing will Die 154 

All Things will Die 156 

Leonine Elegiacs 158 

Supposed Confessions of a Second-rate 

Sensitive Mind. . . . , 160 

The Kraken 167 

Song ■ . . 168 

Lilian 169 

Isabel 171 



vi Contents. 

Juvenilia, continued. page 

Mariana 173 

Mariana in the South 178 

To 182 

Madeline ... 184 

Song: The Owl 186 

Second Song : To the Same. ..... 188 

Recollections of the Arabian Nights . 189 

Ode to Memory 196 

Song 201 

A Character 203 

The Poet 205 

The Poet's Mind 208 

The Sea-Fairies 210 

The Deserted House 212 

The Dying Swan, 215 

A Dirge. . . 218 

Love and Death 221 

The Ballad of Oriana 222 

Circumstance 227 

The Merman 228 

The Mermaid 230 

Adeline 233 

Margaret 236 

Rosalind . 240 

Eleanore 243 

" My Life is full of weary Days" , 250 



Contents. vii 

Early Sonnets : page 

I. To 253 

II. To J. M. K. . . . . 254 

III. " Mine be theStrength of Spirit, 

FULL AND free" 255 

IV. Alexander . 256 

V. Buonaparte 257 

VI. Poland 258 

VII. " Caress'd or Chidden by the 

Slender Hand" 259 

VIII. "The Form, the Form alone is 

Eloquent ! " 260 

IX. ' ' Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to 

take the Cast " 261 

X. " If I WERE loved, as I desire 

TO BE " 262 

XI. The Bridesmaid 264 

The Lady of Shalott 265 

The Two Voices 274 

The Miller's Daughter . 294 

Fatima 305 

CEnone 308 

The Sisters . . . . ^ 319 

To ... 322 

The Palace of Art 323 

Lady Clara Vere de Vere 336 



viii Contents. 

PAGE 

The May Queen 340 

New Year's Eve 344 

Conclusion 348 

The Lotos-Eaters 354 

Choric Song 357 

A Dream of Fair Women 364 

The Blackbird. ... 377 

The Death of the Old Year. ... . 379 

To J. S 383 

On a Mourner 386 

" You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease "... 389 

" Of old sat Freedom on the Hliights " . 391 

" Love thou thy Land, with Love far- 
brought" 393 

England and America in 1782 397 

The Goose. .,,.... 398 



THE PRINCESS; A MEDLEY. 



PROLOGUE. ; 

Sir Wai^ter Vivian all a summer's day ] 

Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun ; 

Up to the people : thither flocked at noon i 

His tenants, wife and child, and thither half j 

The neighboring borough with their Institute j 

Of which he was the patron. I was there \ 

From college, visiting the son, — the son j 

A Walter too, — with others of our set, - ] 

Five others : we were seven at Vivian-place. i 

i 

i 

And me that morning Walter show'd the house, ] 
Greek, set with busts : from vases in the hall 

i 

Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their \ 

names, • 

Grew side by side ; and on the pavement lay . [ 

Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, ■ 

Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time ; ] 

And on the tables every clime and age - v 

Jumbled together ; celts and calumets, l 

Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans j 



2 Prologue. 

Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, 
Ivaborious orient ivory sphere in sphere. 
The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs 
From the isles of palm : and higher on the walls, 
Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, 
His own forefathers' arms and armour hung. 

And "this," he said, "was Hugh's at Agincourt ; 
And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon : 
A good knight he ! we keep a chronicle 
With all about him '' — which he brought, and I 
Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights. 
Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings 
Who laid about them at their wills and died ; 
And mixt with these, a lady, one that arm'd 
Her own fair head, and sallying thro' the gate, 
Had beat her foes with slaughter from her wails. 

' O miracle of women '' said the book, 
" O noble heart who, being strait-besieged 
By this wild king to force her to his wish. 
Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunn'd a soldier's death. 
But now when all was lost or seem'd as lost — 
Her stature more than mortal in the burst 
Of sunrise, her arm lifted, eyes on fire — 
Brake with a blast of trumpets from the gate, 
And, falling on them like a thunderbolt, 
She trampled some beneath her horses' heels. 
And some were whelm'd with missiles of the wall. 
And some were push'd with lances from the rock. 
And part were drown'd within the whirling brook ! 
O miracle of noble womanhood !" 




"Thither flock'd at noon." 



4 Prologue. 

So sang the gallant glorious chronicle ; 
And, I all rapt in this, ' Come out,'' he said, 
' ' To the Abbey : there is Aunt Elizabeth 




a man with knobs and wires and vials fired a 
cannon:" 



And sister Ivilia with the rest." We went 
(I kept the book and had my finger in it) 
Down thro' the park : strange was the sight to me 



% 



Prologue. 5 

For all the sloping pasture murmur'd, sown 

With happy faces and with holiday. 

There moved the multitude, a thousand heads, 

The patient leaders of their Institute 

Taught them with facts. One rear'd a font of stone 

And drew, from butts of water on the slope, 

The fountain of the moment, playing, now 

A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, 

Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball 

Danced like a wisp '. and somewhat lower down 

A man with knobs and wires and vials fired 

A cannon : Echo answer'd in her sleep 

From hollow fields : and here were telescopes 

For azure views ; and there a group of girls 

In circle waited, whom the electric ghock 

Dislmk'd with shrieks and laughter : round the lake 

A little clock-work steamer paddling plied 

And shook the lilies : perched about the knolls 

A dozen angry models jetted steam : 

A petty railway ran : a fire-balloon 

Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves 

And dropt a fairy parachute and past : 

And there thro' twenty posts of telegraph 

They flash'd a saucy message to and fro 

Between the mimic stations ; so that sport 

Went hand in hand with Science ; otherwhere 

Pure sport : a herd of boys with clamour bowl'd 

And stumped the wicket ; babies roU'd about 

Like tumbled fruit in grass ; and men and maids 

Arranged a country dance, and flew thro' light 

And shadow, while the twangling violin 

Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead 



6 Prologue. 

The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime 

Made noise witb bees and breeze from end to end. 

Strange was the sight and smacking of the time ; 
And long we gazed, but satiated at length 
Came to the ruins. High-arch*d and ivy-claspt, 
Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, 
Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave 
The park, the crowd, the house ; but all within 
The sward was trim as any garden lawn : 
And here we lit on Aunt BHzabeth, 
And Ivilia with the rest, and lady friends 
From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, 
A broken statue propt against the wall, 
As gay as any. lyilia, wild with sport, 
Half child half woman as she was, had wound 
A scarf of orange round the stony helm. 
And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk. 
That made the old warrior from his ivied nook 
Glow like a sunbeam : near his tomb a feast 
Shone, silver-set ; about it lay the guests, 
And there we join'd them : then the maiden Aunt 
Took this fair day for text, and from it preach' d 
An universal culture for the crowd. 
And all things great ; but we, unworthier, told 
Of college : he had climb'd across the spikes. 
And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars, 
And he had breath'd the Proctor's dogs ; and one 
Discuss'd his tutor, rough to common men, 
But honeying at the whisper of a lord ; 
And one the Master, as a rogue in grain 
Veneer'd with sanctimonious theory. 



Prologue. 7 

But while they talk'd, above their heads I saw 
The feudal warrior lady-clad ; which brought 
My book to mind : and opening this I read 
Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang 
With tilt and tourney ; then the tale of her 
That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, 
And much I praised her nobleness, and "Where," 
Ask'd Walter, patting I^ilia's head (she lay 
Beside him) "lives there such a woman now?" 

Quick answer'd Lilia "There are thousands now 
Such women, but convention beats them down : 
It is but bringing up ; no more than that : 
You men have done it : how I hate you all ! 
Ah, were I something great ! I wish I were 
Some mighty poetess, I would shame you then, 
That love to keep us children ! O I wish 
That I were some great princess, I would build 
Far off from men a college like a man's, 
And I would teach them all that men are taught ; 
We are twice as quick !" And here she shook aside 
The hand that play'd the patron with her curls. 

And one said smiling "Pretty were the sight 
If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt 
With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, 
And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. 
I think they should not wear our rusty gowns. 
But move as rich as Bmperor-moths, or Ralph 
Who shines so in the corner ; yet I fear, 
If there were many Lilias in the brood. 



8 Prologue. 

However deep you miglit embower the nest, 
Some boy would spy it/' 

At this upon the sward 
She tapt her tiny silken-sandal' d foot : 
"That's your light way ; but I would make it death 
For any male thing but to peep at us.''^ 

Petulant she spoke, and at herself she laugh'd ; 
A rosebud set with little wilful thorns. 
And sweet as English air could make her, she : 
But Walter hail'd a score of names upon her, 
And "petty Ogress," and "ungrateful Puss," 
And swore he long'd at college, only long'd, 
All else was well, for she-society. 
They boated and they cricketed ; they talk'd 
At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics ; 
They lost their weeks ; they vext the souls of deans ; 
They rode ; they betted ; made a hundred friends. 
And caught the blossom of the flying terms. 
But miss'd the mignonette of Vivian-place, 
The little hearth-flower Lilia. Thus he spoke. 
Part banter, part affection. 

' ' True, ' ' she said, 
"We doubt not that. O yes, you miss'd us much. 
I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did ' ' 

She held it out ; and as a parrot turns 
Up thro' gilt wires a crafty loving eye, 
And takes a lady's finger with all care, 
And bites it for true heart and not for harm. 
So he with Lilia' s. Daintily she shriek' d 
And wrung it. " Doubt my word again !" he said, . 



Prologue, 9 \ 



" Come, listen ! here is proof that you were miss'd : 

We seven stay"d at Christmas up to read ; ^ 

And there we took one tutor as to read : ; 

The hard-grain'd Muses of the cube and square 

Were out of season : never man, I think, j 

So moulder 'd in a sinecure as he : \ 

For while our cloisters echo'd frosty feet, | 

And our long walks were stript as bare as brooms, 

We did but talk you over, pledge you all 

In wassail ; often, like as many girls — \ 

Sick for the hollies and the yews of home — 1 

As many little trifling lyilias — play'd | 

Charades and riddles as at Christmas here, \ 

And whaVs my thought and when and where and ^ 

how, \ 

And often told a tale frcm mouth to mouth i 

As here at Christmas." \ 

She remember' d that : \ 

A pleasant game, she thought : she liked it more ^ 

Than magic music, forfeits, all the rest. ; 

But these — what kind of tales did men tell men, i 

She wonder'd, by themselves? : 

A half-disdain { 

Perch'd on the pouted blossoms of her lips : ' 

And Walter nodded at me ; " //i? began, j 

The rest would follow, each in turn ; and so 1 

We forged a sevenfold story. Kind ? what kind ? 

Chimeras, crotchets, Christmas solecisms, : 

Seven-headed monsters only made to kill \ 

Time by the fire in winter.*' ] 

' * Kill him now, ; 

The tyrant ! kill him in the summer too," ' 



lo Prologue. 

Said Lilia ; "Why not now ?'' the maiden Aunt. 

"Why not a summer's as a winter's tale? 

A tale for summer as befits the time, 

And something it should be to suit the place, 

Heroic, for a hero lies beneath, 

Grave, solemn !" 

Walter warp'd his mouth at this 
To something so mock-solemn, that I laugh'd 
And Lilia woke with sudden-shrilling mirth 
An echo like a ghostly woodpecker, 
Hid in the ruins ; till the maiden Aunt 
(A little sense of wrong had touch'd her face 
With color) turn'd to me with " As you will ; 
Heroic if you will, or what you will. 
Or be yourself your hero if you will." 

"Take lyilia, then, for heroine" clamour'd he, 
" And make her some great princess, six feet high, 
Grand, epic, homicidal ; and be you 
The Prince to win her !" 

" Then follow me, the Prince," 
I answer' d, " each be hero in his turn ! 
Seven and yet one, like shadows in a dream. — 
Heroic seems our Princess as required — 
But something made to suit with Time and place, 
A Gothic ruin and a Grecian house, 
A talk of college and of ladies' rights, 
A feudal knight in silken masquerade. 
And, 5^onder, shrieks and strange experiments 
For which the good Sir Ralph had burnt them all — 
This were a medley ! we should have him back 
Who told the * Winter's tale' to do it for us. 



Prologue. 1 1 

No matter : we will say whatever comes, 
And let the ladies sing us, if they will, 
From time to time, some ballad or a song 
To give us breathing-space." 

Sol began. 
And the rest follow'd : and the women sang 
Between the rougher voices of the men. 
Like linnets in the pauses of the wind : 
And here I give the story and the songs. 



12 



The Princess ; 



PART I. 



A prince I was, blue-eyed, and fair in face, 

Of temper amorous, as 

the first of May, 
With lengths of yel- 
low ringlet, like a 
girl, 
For on my cradle 
shone the North- 
ern star. 

There lived an an- 
cient legend in our 
house. 

Some sorcerer, whom 
a far-off grandsire 
burnt 

Because he cast no 
shadow, had fore- 
told, 

Dying, that none of all 
our blood should 
know 

The shadow from the 
substance, and that 
one 




A Medley. 13 

Should come to fight with shadows and to fall. 

For so, my mother said, the story ran. 

And, truly, waking dreams were, more or less. 

An old and strange affection of the house. 

Myself too had weird seizures, Heaven knows what : 

On a sudden in the midst of men and day, 

And while I walk'd and talk'd as heretofore, 

I seem'd to move among a world of ghosts. 

And feel myself the shadow of a dream. 

Our great court-Galen poised his gilt-head cane, 

And paw'd his beard, and mutter'd "catalepsy." 

My mother pitying made a thousand prayers ; 

My mother was as mild as any saint. 

Half-canonized by all that look'd on her, 

So gracious was her tact and tenderness : 

But my good father thought a king a king ; 

He cared not for the affection of the house ; 

He held his sceptre like a pedant"'s wand 

To lash offence, and with long arms and hands 

Reached out, and pick'd offenders from the mass 

For judgment. 

Now it chanced that I had been, 
"While life was yet in bud and blade, betroth'd 
To one, a neighbouring Princess : she to me 
Was proxy- wedded with a bootless calf 
At eight years old ; and still from time to time • 
Came murmurs of her beauty from the South, 
And of her brethren, youths of puissance ; 
And still I wore her picture by my heart, 
And one dark tress ; and all around them both 
Sweet thoughts would swarm as bees about their 
queen. 



14 



The Princess ; 




■ Tore the king's lktter. 



But wlien the days drew nigh 

that I should wed, 
My father sent ambassadors 

with furs 
And jewels, gifts, to fetch her : 

these brought back 
A present, a great labour of the 

loom ; 
And therewithal an answer 

vague as wind : 
Besides, they saw the king ; he 

took the gifts ; 
He said there was a compact ; 

that was true : 
But then she had a will ; was he 

to blame ? 
And maiden fancies ; loved to 

live alone 
Among her women ; certain, 

would not wed. 



That morning in the presence room I stood 
With Cyril and with Florian, my two friends : 
The first, a gentleman of broken means 
(His father's fault) but given to starts and bursts 
Of revel ; and the last, my other heart, ' 
And almost my half-self, for still we moved 
Together, twinn'd as horse's ear and eye. 



Now, while they spake, I saw my father's face 
Grow long and troubled like a rising moon. 
Inflamed with wrath : he started on his feet. 



jj Medley. 15 

Tore the king's letter, snow'd it down, and rent 
The wonder of the loom thro' warp and woof 
From skirt to skirt ; and at last he sware 
That he would send a hundred thousand men. 
And bring her in a whirlwind : then he chew'd 
The thrice-turn'dcud of wrath, and cook' d his spleen 
Communing with his captains of the war. 

At last I spoke. '' My father, let me go. 
It cannot be but some gross error lies 
In this report, this answer of a king, 
Whom all men rate as kind and hospitable : 
Or, maybe, I myself, my bride once seen. 
Whatever my grief to find her less than fame. 
May rue the bargain made." And Florian said : 
" I have a sister at the foreign court. 
Who moves about the Princess ; she, you know. 
Who wedded with a nobleman from thence : 
He, dying lately, left her, as I hear. 
The lady of three castles in that land : 
Thro' her this matter might be sifted clean.'" 
And Cyril whisper'd : ' ' Take me with you too." 
Then laughing, ' ' what if these weird seizures come 
Upon you in those lands, and no one near 
To point you out the shadow from the truth ! 
Take me : I'll serve you better in a strait ; 
I grate on rusty hinges here :" but " No !" 
Roar'd the rough king, "you shall not; we ounself 
Will crush her prett}^ maiden fancies dead 
In iron gauntlets : break the council up." 

But when the council broke, I rose and past 



i6 



The Pri?icess ; 



Thro' the wild woods that hung about the town ; 
Found a still place, and pluck'd her likeness out ; 
Laid it on flowers, and watch' d it lying bathed 
In the green gleam of dewy-tassell'd trees : 
What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth? 
Proud look'd the lips : but while I meditated 
A wind arose and rush'd upon the South, 
And shook the songs, the whispers, and the shrieks 




" Half in dread to hear my father's clamour at our backs." 



Of the wild woods together ; and a Voice 
Went with it, "Follow, follow, thou shalt win." 



Then, ere the silver sickle of that month 
Became her golden shield, I stole from court 
With Cyril and with Florian, nnperceived. 
Cat-footed thro' the town and half in dread 
To hear my father's clamour at our backs 



A Medley, 17 

With Ho ! from some bay-window shake the night ; 
But all was quiet : from the bastion'd walls 
Like threaded spiders, one by one, we dropt. 
And flying reach 'd the frontier: then we crost 
To a livelier land ; and so by tilth and grange, 
And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness. 
We gain'd the mother-city thick with towers, 
And in the imperial palace found the king. 

His name was Gama ; crack' d and small his voice. 
But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind 
On glassy water drove his cheek in lines ; 
A little dry old man, without a star, 
Not like a king : three days he feasted us, 
And on the fourth I spake of why we came, 
And my betroth'd. " You do us, Prince," he said, 
Airing a snowy hand and signet gem, 
' ' All honour. We remember love ourselves 
In our sweet youth : there did a compact pass 
Long summers back, a kind of ceremony — 
I think the year in which our olives fail'd. 
I would you had her, Prince, with all my heart, 
With my full heart : but there were widows here, 
Two widows. Lady Psyche, Lady Blanche ; 
They fed her theories, in and out of place 
Maintaining that with equal husbandry 
The woman were an equal to the man. 
They harp'd on this ; with this our banquets rang ; 
Our dances broke and buzz'd in knots of talk; 
Nothing but this ; my very ears were hot 
To hear them : knowledge, so my daughter held, 
Was all in all : they had but been, she thought, 



i8 The Princess ; 

As children ; they must lose the child, assume 
The woman : then, Sir, awful odes she wrote, ^ 

Too awful, sure, for what they treated of, 
But all she is and does is awful ; odes j 

About this losing of the child ; and rhymes 
And dismal lyrics, prophesying change ; 

Beyond all reason : these the women sang ; j 

And they that know such things — I sought but j 

peace ; \ 

No critic I — would call them masterpieces : ! 

They master'd fne. At last she begg'd a boon, 
A certain summer-palace which I have i 

Hard by your father's frontier : I said no, 
Yet being an easy man, gave it : and there, 
All wild to found an University ' 

For maidens, on the spur she fled ; and more 
We know not, — only this : they see no men, J 

Not ev'n her brother Arac, nor the twins j 

Her brethren, tho' they loved her, looked upon her i 

As on a kind of paragon ; and I ■ 

(Pardon me saying it) were much loth to breed j 

Dispute betwixt myself and mine : but since j 

(And I confess with right) you think me bound \ 

In some sort, I can give you letters to her ; j 

And yet, to speak the truth, I rate your chance ' 

Almost at naked nothing. " ] 

Thus the king ; \ 

And I, tho' nettled that he seem'd to slur \ 

With garrulous ease and oily courtesies j 

Our fornial compact, yet, not less (all frets : 

But chafing me on fire to find my bride) 
Went forth again with both my friends. We rode ' 



A Medley. 19 

Many a long league back to the North. At last 
From hills, that look'd across a land of hope, 
We dropt with evening on a rustic town 
Set in a gleaming river's crescent-curve, 
Close at the boundary of the liberties ; 
There, enter'd an old hostel, call'd mine host 
To council, plied him with his richest wines. 
And show'd the late-writ letters of the king. 

He with a long low sibilation, stared 
As blank as death in marble ; then exclaim'd 
Averring it was clear against all rules 
For any man to go : but as his brain 
Began to mellow, " If the king," he said, 
' * Had given us letters, was he bound to speak ? 
The king would bear him out ;" and at the last — 
The summer of the vine in all his veins — 
" No doubt that we might make it worth his while. 
She once had passed that way ; he heard her speak ; 
She scared him ; life*! he never saw the like ; 
She look'd as grand as doomsday, and as grave : 
And he, he reverenced his liege-lady there ; 
He always made a point to post with mares ; 
His daughter and his housemaid were the boys : 
The land, he understood, for miles about 
Was till'd by women ; all the swine were sows. 
And all the dogs" — 

But while he jested thus, 
A thought flash'd thro' me which I clothed in act. 
Remembering how we three presented Maid 
Or Nymph, or Goddess, at high tide of feast, 
In masque or pageant at my father's court. 



20 The Princess ; \ 

We sent mine host to purchase female gear ; ' 

He brought it, and himself, a sight to shake i 

The midriff of despair with laughter, holp \ 

To lace us up, till, each, in maiden plumes ' 

We rustled : him we gave a costly bribe 

To guerdon silence, mounted our good steeds, 

And boldly ventured on the liberties. \ 

We follow' d up the river as we rode, j 

And rode till midnight when the college lights j 

Began to glitter firefly-like in copse I 

And linden alley : then we passed an arch, • 

Whereon a woman-statue rose with wings ! 

From four wing'd horses dark against the stars ; \ 

And some inscription ran along the front, j 

But deep in shadow : further on we gain'd j 

A little street half garden and half house ; \ 

But scarce could hear each other speak for noise I 

Of clocks and chimes, like silver hammers falling j 

On silver anvils, and the splash and stir J 

Of fountains spouted up and showering down \ 

In meshes of the jasmine and the rose : \ 

And all about us peal'd the nightingale, ' 

Rapt in her song, and careless of the snare. \ 

\ 

There stood a bust of Pallas for a sign, ; 
By two sphere lamps blazon 'd like Heaven and 

Earth i 

With constellation and with continent, ; 

Above an entry : riding in, we call'd ; I 

A plump-arm'd Ostleress and a stable wench j 

Came running at the call, and help'd us down. j 



A Medley. 21 

Then stept a buxom hostess forth, and sail'd, 
Full-blown, before us into rooms which gave 
Upon a pillar' d porch, the bases lost 
In laurel : her we ask'd of that and this, 
And who were tutors. "Lady Blanche" she said, 
" And Lady Psyche." " Which was prettiest, 
Best-natured ?" ' * Lady Psyche. " " Hers are we, " 
One voice, we cried ; and I sat down and wrote, 
In such a hand as when a field of corn 
Bows all its ears before the roaring Kast ; 

' ' Three ladies of the Northern empire pray 
Your Highness would enroll them with your own, 
As Lady Psyche's pupils." 

This I seal'd ; 
The seal was Cupid bent above a scroll. 
And o'er his head Uranian Venus hung. 
And raised the blinding bandage from his eyes : 
I gave the letter to be sent with dawn ; 
And then to bed, where half in doze I seem'd 
To float about a glimmering night, and watch 
A full sea glazed with muffled moonlight, swell 
On some dark shore just seen that it was rich. 



22 The Princess ; 



As thro' the land at eve we went, 

And pluck'd the ripen''d ears, 
We fell out, my wife and I, 
O we fell out I know not why, 

And kiss'd again with tears. 
And blessings on the falling ou* 

That ail the more endears, 
When we fall out with those we love 

And kiss again with tears ! 
For when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other years. 
There above the little grave, 
O there above the little grave, 

We kiss'd again with tears. 



A Medley. 23 



PART II. 

1 

At break of day the College Portress came ; ' 

She brought us Academic silks, in hue \ 

The lilac, with a silken hood to each, j 

And zoned with gold ; and now when these were on, J 

And we as rich as moths from dusk cocoons, j 

She, curtseying her obeisance, let us know . ; 

The Princess Ida waited ; out we paced, \ 

I first, and following thro' the porch that \ 

All round with laurel, issued in a court ' 

Compact of lucid marbles, boss'd with lengths i 

Of classic frieze, with ample awnings gay \ 

Betwixt the pillars, and with great urns of flowers, \ 

The Muses and the Graces, grouped in threes, 1 

Bnring'd a billowing fountain in the midst, I 

And here and there on lattice edges lay ! 

Or book or lute ; but hastily we past, ; 

iVnd up a flight of stairs into the hall. • ] 

i 

There at a board by tome and paper sat. 
With two tame leopards couch'd beside her throne 

All beauty compassed in a female form, ; 

The Princess ; liker to the inhabitant | 

Of some clear planet close upon the Sun, \ 

Than our man's earth ; such eyes were in her head, : 

And so much grace and power, breathing down i 



24 The Princess ; 

From over her arch'd brows, with every turn 
Lived thro her to the tips of her long hands, 
And to her feet. She rose her height, and said : 

* ' We give you welcome : not without redound 
Of use and glory to yourselves ye come, . 
The first-fruits of the stranger : aftertime, 
And that full voice which circles round the grave, 
Will rank you nobly, mingled up with me. 
Wkat ! are the ladies of your land so tall ?" 
' * We of the court, ' ' said Cyril. * ' From the court, ' ' 
She answer'd, "then ye know the Prince ?" and he: 
" The climax of his age ! as tho' there were 
One rose in all the world, your Highness that. 
He worships your ideal :" she replied : 
" We scarcely thought in our own hall to hear 
This barren verbiage, current among men, 
Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment. 
Your flight from out your bookless wilds would seem 
As arguing love of knowledge and of power ; 
Your language proves you still the child. Indeed, 
We dream not of him : when we set our hand 
To this great work, we purposed with ourself 
Never to wed. You likewise will do well. 
Ladies, in entering here, to cast and fling 
The tricks, which make us toys of men, that so, 
Some future time, if so indeed you will, 
You may with those self-styled our lords ally 
Your fortunes justlier balanced, scale with scale." 

At those high words, we conscious of ourselves, 
Perused the matting ; then an officer 



A Medley. 25 \ 

\ 
Rose up, and read the statutes, such as these : j 

Not for three years to correspond with home ; 

Not for three years to cross the liberties ; , 

Not for three years to speak with any men ; j 

And many more, which hastily subscribed, i 

We enter'd on the boards : and " Now," she cried, ,! 

i 

" Ye are green wood, see ye warp not. Look, our 

hall ! i 

Our statues ! — not of those that men desire, j 

Sleek Odalisques, or oracles of mode, i 

Nor stunted squaws of West or Bast ; but she ' 
That taught the Sabine how to rule, and she 
The foundress of the Babylonian wall, 

The Carian Artemisia strong in war, 3 

The Rhodope, that built the pyramid, \ 

Clelia, Cornelia, with the Palmyrene \ 

That fought Aurelian, and the Roman brows I 
Of Agrippina. Dwell with these, and lose 
Convention, since to look on noble forms 

Makes noble thro' the sensuous organism \ 

That which is higher. O lift your natures up : ; 

Embrace our aims : work out your freedom. Girls, 1 

Knowledge is now no more a fountain seal'd : I 
Drink deep, until the habits of the slave, 
The sins of emptiness, gossip and spite 

And slander, die. Better not be at all \ 
Than not be noble. Leave us : you may go : . ' 

To-day the Lady Psyche will harangue i 

The fresh arrivals of the week before ; ;j 

For they press in from all the provinces, i 

And fill the hive." 1 

She spoke, and bowing waved ' 



26 The Princess ; A Medley. 

Dismissal : back again we crost the court 

To Lady Psyche's : as we enter' d in, 

There sat along the forms, like morning doves 

That sun their milky bosoms on the thatch, 

A patient range of pupils ; she herself 

Brect behind a desk of satin-wood, 

A quick brunette, well-moulded, falcon-eyed, 

And on the hither side, or so she look'd. 

Of twenty summers. At her left, a child, 

In shining draperies, headed like a star, 

Her maiden babe, a double April old, 

Aglaia slept. We sat : the Lady glanced : 

Then Florian, but no livelier than the dame 

That whisper'd " Asses' ears," among the sedge, 

" My sister." " Comely, too, by all that's fair," 

Said Cyril. " O hush, hush !" and she began. 

"This world was once a fluid haze of light, 
Till toward the centre set the starry tides, 
And ©ddied into suns, that wheeling cast • 

The planets : then the monster, then the man ; 
Tattoo' d or woaded, winter-clad in skins, 
Ra\/ from the prime, and crushing down his mate ; 
As yet we find in barbarous isles, and here 
Among the lowest. ' ' 

Thereupon she took 
A bird's-eye view of all the ungracious past ; 
Glanced at the legendary Amazon 
As emblematic of a nobler age ; 
Appraised the Lycian custom, spoke of those 
That lay at wine with Lar and Lucumo ; 
Ran down the Persian, Grecian, Roman lines 



^ 




" Erect behind a desk of satin-wood. 



28 The Princess ; 

Of empire, and the woman's state in each, 

How far from just ; till warming with her theme 

She fulmined out her scorn of laws Salique 

And little-footed China, touch' d on Mahomet 

With much contempt, and came to chivalry : 

When some respect, however slight, was paid 

To woman, superstition all awry : 

However then commenced the dawn : a beam 

Had slanted forward, falling in a land 

Of promise; fruit would follow. Deep, indeed. 

Their debt of thanks to her who nrst had dared 

To leap the rotten pales of prejudice, 

Disyoke their necks from custom, and assert 

None lordlier than themselves but that which made 

Woman and man. She had founded ; they must 

build. 
Here might they learn whatever men were taught : 
Let them not fear : some said their heads were less : 
Some men's were small ; not they the least of men ; 
For often fineness compensated size : 
Besides the brain was like the hand, and grew 
With using ; thence the man^s, if mere was more ; 
He took advantage of his strength to be 
First in the field : some ages had been lost ; 
But woman ripen' d earlier, and her life 
Was longer, and albeit their glorious names 
Were fewer, scatter' d stars, yet since in truth 
The highest is the measure of the man. 
And not the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, 
Nor those horn-handed breakers of the glebe, 
But Homer, Plato, Verulam ; even so 
With woman : and in arts of government 



A Medley. 29 

j 

Elizabeth and others ; arts of war ; 

The peasant Joan and others ; arts of grace i 

Sappho and others vied with any man : ' 
And, last not least, .she who had left her place. 

And bow'd her state to them, that they might grow ] 

To use and power on this Oasis, lapt j 

In the arms of leisure, sacred from the blight i 

Of ancient influence and scorn. j 

At last J 

She rose upon a wind of prophecy i 

Dilating on the future ; * * everywhere \ 

Two heads in council, two beside the hearth, i 

Two in the tangled business of the world, ; 

Two in the liberal offices of life, \ 
Two plummets dropt for one to sound the abyss 
Of science, and the secrets of the mind : 

Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, more : i 

And everywhere the broad and bounteous Barth < 

Should bear a double growth of those rare souls, | 

Poets, whose thoughts enrich the blood of the — \ 

world." j 

■ 1 

She ended here, and beckon'd us : the rest \ 

Parted ; and, glowing full-faced welcome, she '\ 

Began to address us, and was moving on j 

In gratulation, till as when a boat ' | 

Tacks, and the slacken 'd sail flaps, all her voice | 

Faltering and fluttering in her throat, she cried . ^ 

"My brother!" "Well, my sister." "0,"she 1 

said, ] 

" What do you here ? and in this dress ? and these ? j 

Why who are these ? a wolf within the fold ! J 

j 
j 



3© The Princess ; 

A pack of wolves ! the Lord be gracious to me ! 
A plot, a plot, a plot, to ruin all !" 
" No plot, no plot," he answer^. " Wretched boy. 
How saw you not the inscription on the gate, 

IvE;T no man KNTKR in on pain OI'' DieATH ?" 

" And if I had," he answer' d, "who could think 

The softer Adams of your Academe, 

O sister, Sirens tho' they be, were such 

As chanted on the blanching bones of men ?" 

"But you will find it otherwise," she said. 

" You jest : ill jesting with edge-tools ! my vow 

Bids me to speak, and O that iron will, 

That axelike edge unturnable, our Head, 

The Princess." "Well then. Psyche, take my life. 

And nail me like a weasel on a grange 

For warning : bury me beside the gate. 

And cut this epitaph above my bones : 

Here lies a brother by a sister slain. 

All for the cotnmon good of womankind.'*^ 

" Let me die too," said Cyril, "having seen 

And heard the Lady Psyche." 

I struck in : 
" Albeit so mask'd, Madam, I love the truth ; 
Receive it ; and in me behold the Prince 
Your countryman, affianced years ago 
To the Lady Ida : here, for here she was. 
And thus (what other way was left) I came." 
" O Sir, O Prince, I have no country ; none ; 
If any, this ; but none. Whate'er I was 
Disrooted what I am is grafted here. 
Affianced, Sir ? love-whispers may not breathe 
Within this vestal limit, and how should I, 



A Medley. 31 

Who am not mine, say, live : the thunderbolt 
Hangs silent ; but prepare : I speak ; it falls." 
' ' Yet pause," I said : "for that inscription there, 
I think no more of deadly lurks therein, 
Than in a clapper clapping in a garth, 
To scare the fowl from fruit ; if more there be, 
If more and acted on, what follows? war ; 
Your own work marr'd : for this your Academe, 
Whichever side be victor, in the halloo 
Will topple to the trumpet down, and pass 
With all fair theories only made to gild 
A stormless s'ammer/' " Let the Princess judge 
Of that" she said : "farewell, Sir — and to you. 
I shudder at the sequel, but I go." 

" Are you that Lady Psyche," I rejoin'd, 
"The fifth in line from that old Florian, 
Yet hangs his portrait in my father's hall 
(The gaunt old Baron with his beetle brow 
Sun-shaded in the heat of dusty fights) 
As he bestrode my Grandsire, when he fell, 
And all else fled ? we point to it, and we say, 
The loyal warmth of Florian is not cold. 
But branches current yet irl kindred veins." 
' ' Are you that Psyche," Florian added ; " she 
With whom I sang about the morning hills. 
Flung ball, flew kite, and raced the purple fly, 
And snared the squirrel of the glen ? are you 
That Psyche, wont to bind my throbbing brow, 
To smoothe my pillow, mix the foaming draught 
Of fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read 
My sickness down to happy dreams ? are you 



32 The Princess ; 

That brother- sister Psyche, both in one ? 
You were that Psyche, but what are you now ?^' 
" You are that Psyche," Cyril said, " for whom 
I would be that for ever which I seem, 
V/oman , if I might sit beside your feet, 
And glean your scatter'd sapience."' 

Then once more, 
' \ Are you that Lady Psyche, " I began, 
'' That on her bridal morn before she past 
From all her old companions, when the king 
Kiss'd her pale cheek, declared that "ancient ties 
Would still be dear beyond the southern hills ; 
That were there any of our people there 
In want or peril, there was one to heai 
And help them ? look ! for such are these and I." 
" Are you that Psyche," Florian ask'd, " to whom, 
In gentler days, your arrow- wounded fawn 
Came flying while you sat beside the well ? 
The creature laid his muzzle on your lap. 
And sobb'd. and you sobb'd with it, and the blood 
Was sprinkled on your kirtle, and j-ou wept. 
That was fawn's blood, not brother's, yet you wept. 
O by the bright head of my little niece, 
You were that Psyche, and what are you now?" 
" You are that Psyche," Cyril said again, 
* * The mother of the sweetest little maid, 
That ever crow'd for kisses." 

" Out upon it !" 
She answered, " peace ! and why should I not play 
The Spartan Mother with emotion, be 
The Lucius Junius Brutus of my kind ? 
Him you call great : he for the common weal, 



A Medley. 33 

Tlie fading politics of mortal Rome, 
As I might slay this child, if good need were, 
Slew both his sons : and I, shall I, on whom 
The secular emancipation turns 
Of half this world, be swerved from right to save 
A prince, a brother? a little will I yield. 
Best so, perchance, for us, and well for you. 
O hard, when love and duty clash ! I fear 
My conscience will not count me fleckless ; yet — 
Hear my conditions : promise (otherwise 
You perish) as you came, to slip away 
To-day, to-morrow, soon : it shall be said. 
These women were too barbarous, would not learn ; 
They fled, who might have shamed us : promise, 
all." 

What could we else, we promised each ; and she, 
Like some wild creature, newly-caged, commenced 
A to-and-fro, so pacing till she paused 
By Florian ; holding out her lily arms 
Took both his hands, and smiling faintly said : 
" I knew you at the first : tho' you have grown 
You scarce have alter' d : I am sad and glad 
To see you, Florian. /give thee to death 
My brother ! it was duty spoke, not I. 
My needful seeming harshness, pardon it. 
Our mother, is she well ?" 

With that she kiss'd 
His forehead, then, a moment after, clung 
About him, and betwixt them blossom' d up 
From out a common vein of memory 
Sweet household talk, and phrases of the hearth, 



34 The Princess ; A Medley. 

And far allusion, till the gracious dews 
Began to glisten and to fall : and while 
They stood, so rapt, we gazing, came a voice, 
" I brought a message here from lyady Blanche." 
Back started she, and turning round we saw 
The Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood, 
Melissa, with her hand upon the lock, 
A rosy blonde, and in a college gown. 
That clad her like an April daffodilly 
(Her mother's color) with her lips apart, 
And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes, 
As bottom agates seen to wave and float 
In crystal currents of clear morning seas. 

So stood that same fair creature at the door. 
Then Lady Psyche, " Ah — Melissa — you ! 
You heard us?" and Melissa, " O pardon me ! 
I heard, I could not help it, did not wish : 
But, dearest Lady, pray you fear me not," 
Nor think I bear that heart within my breast. 
To give three gallant gentlemen to death." 
"I trust you," said the other, "for we two 
Were always friends, none closer, elm and vine : 
But yet your mother's jealous temperament — 
Let not your prudence, dearest, drowse, or prove 
The Dana'id of a leaky vase, for fear 
This whole foundation ruin, and I lose 
My honour, these their lives." "Ah, fear me not' 
Replied Melissa ; "no — I would not tell. 
No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness. 
No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard things 
That Sheba came to ask of Solomon." 




*' Melissa, with her hand upon the lock." 



36 



The Priticess ; 



\ 



**Be it so" the other, 
"that we still may- 
lead 

The new light up, and 
culminate in peace, 

For Solomon may come 
toShebayet." 

Said Cyril, "Madam, he 
the wisest man 

Feasted the M'oman wisest 
then, in halls 

Of Lebanonian cedar : nor 
should 3'ou 

(Tho' Madam j)'<9z/ should 
answer, we would ask) 

Less welcome find among 
us, if you came 

Among us, debtors for 
our lives to you. 

Myself for something 
more." He said not 
what, 

But "Thanks," she an- 
swer' d, " Go : we have 
been too long 

Together : keep )^our 
hoods about the face ; 
They do so that affect abstraction here. 
Speak little ; mix not with the rest ; and hold 
Your promise : all, I trust, may yet be well." 

We turn'd to go, but Cyril took the child. 
And held her round the knees against his waist, 




" Cyril took the child." 



A Medley. 37 

And blew the swoll'n cheek of a trumpeter, 
While Psyche watched them, smiling, and the child 
Push'd her flat hand against his face and laugh' d ; 
And thus our conference closed. 

And then we stroll'd : 

For half the day thro' stately theatres 

Bench'd crescent-wise. In each we sat, we heard ; 

The grave Professor, On the lecture slate I 

The circle rounded under female hands \ 

With flawless demonstration : follow" d then | 

A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, 

With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out \ 

By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies j 

And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long I 

That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time \ 

Sparkle for ever : then we dipt in all 

That treats of whatsoever is, the state, j 

The total chronicles of man, the mind, I 

The morals, something of the frame, the rock, j 

The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower, 

Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest, ■ 

And whatsoever can be taught and known ; 

Till like three horses that have broken fence, \ 

And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn. 

We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke : ' 

" Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we," 
" They hunt old trails'' said Cyril " very well ; 

But when did woman ever yet invent .'"' " \ 

" Ungracious !" answer'd Florian ; ''have you learnt < 

No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talk'd . 

The trash that made me sick, and almost sad?'' ; 

" O trash " he said, ' ' but with a kernel in it. i 



3^ The Princess ; 

Should I not call her wise, who made me wise ? 

And learnt ? I learnt more from her in a flash, 

Than if my brainpan were an empty hull. 

And every Muse tumbled a science in. 

A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, 

And round these halls a thousand baby loves 

Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts, 

"Whence follows many a vacant pang ; but O 

With me. Sir, enter'd in the bigger boy, 

The Head of all the golden-shafted firm. 

The long-limb'd lad that had a Psyche too ; 

He cleft me thro' the stomacher ; and now 

What think you of it, Florian ? do I chase 

The substance or the shadow ? will it hold ? 

I have no sorcerer's malison on me, 

No ghostly hauntings like his Highness. I 

Flatter myself that always everywhere 

I know the sub'stance when I see it. Well, 

Are castles shadows ? Three of them ? Is she 

The sweet proprietress a shadow ? If not. 

Shall those three castles patch my tatter'd coat ? 

For dear are those three castles to my wants, 

And dear is sister Psyche to my heart. 

And two dear things are one of double worth. 

And much I might have said, but that my zone 

Unmanned me : then the Doctors ! O to hear 

The Doctors ! O to watch the thirsty plants 

Imbibing ! once or twice I thought to roar, 

To break my chain, to shake my mane : but thou. 

Modulate me. Soul of mincing mimicry ! 

Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat ; 

Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet 



A Medley. 



39 



Star-sisters answering under crescent brows ; 
Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose 
A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek, 
Where they like swallows coming out of time 
Will wonder why they came : but hark the bell 
For dinner, let us go !" 




"In this hand held a volume as to read, and smoothed 

A PETTED peacock DOWN WITH THAT." 



And in we stream'd 
Among the columns, pacing staid and still 
By twos and threes, till all from end to end 
With beauties every shade of brown and fair 
In colours gayer than the morning mist, 



40 



The Princess ; 



The long hall glittered like a bed of flowers. 

How might a man not wander from his wits 

Pierced thro' with eyes, but that I kept mine own 

Intent on her, who rapt in glorious dreams, 

The second-sight of some Astraean age, 

Sat compass''d with professors : they, the while, 

Discuss'd a doubt and tost it to and fro : 

A clamour thicken'd, mixt with inmost terms 




" But we THRliE SAT MUFFLED LIKE THE FATES." 

Of art and science : Lady Blanche alone 
Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments, 
With all her autumn tresses falsely brown, 
Shot sidelong daggers at us, a tiger-cat 
In act to spring. 

At last a solemn grace 
Concluded, and we sought the gardens : there 
One walk'd reciting by herself, and one 



A 



A Medley. 41 

In this hand held a volume as to read, 

And smoothed a petted peacock down with that : 

Some to a low song oar'd a shallop by, 

Or under arches of the marble bridge 

Hung, shadowed from the heat : some hid and 

sought 
In the orange thickets : others tost a ball 
Above the fountain-jets, and back again 
With laughter : others lay about the lawns. 
Of the older sort, and murmur'd that their May 
Was passing : what was learning unto them ? 
They wished to marry ; they could rule a house ; 
Men hated learned women : but we three 
Sat muffled like the Fates ; and often came 
Melissa hitting all we saw with shafts 
Of gentle satire, kin to charity, 
That harm'd not: then day droopt; the chapel bells 
Call'd us : we left the walks ; we mixt with those 
Six hundred maidens clad in purest white, 
Before two streams of light from wall to wall. 
While the great organ almost burst his pipes, 
Groaning for power, and rolling thro' the court 
A long melodious thunder to the sound 
Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies. 
The work of Ida, to call down from Heaven 
A blessing on her labours for the world. 



42 The Princess ; 



Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea. 
Low, low, breathe and blow 

Wind of the western sea ! 
Over the rolling waters go 
Come from the dying moon, and blow, 

Blow him again to me ; 
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest. 

Father will come to thee soon ; 
Rest, rest, on mother's breast, 
' Father will come to thee soon ; 
Father will come to his babe in the nest, 
Silver sails all out of the west 

Under the silver moon : 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 



A Medley. 



43 



PART III. 

Morn in the white wake of the morning star 
Came furrowing all the orient into gold. 
We rose, and each by other drest with care 
Descended to the court that lay three parts 




"Morn in the white wake of the morning star." 

In shadow, but the Muses' heads "were touch'd 
Above the darkness from their native Bast. 



There while we stood beside the fount, and 

watch'd, 
Or seem'd to watch the dancing bubble, approach'd 



44 The Princess ; A Medley. 

Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep, 

Or grief, and glowing round her dewy eyes 

The circled Iris of a night of tears ; 

"And fly," she cried, " O fly, while yet you may ! 

My mother knows :'' and when I ask'd her " how," 

"My fault" she wept "my fault! and yet not 

mine ; 
Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me. 
INIy mother, 'tis her wont from night to night 
To rail at Lady Psyche and her side. 
She says the Princess should have been the Head, 
Herself and Lady Psyche the two arms ; 
And so it was agreed when first they came ; 
But Lady Psyche was the right hand now. 
And she the left, or not, or seldom used ; 
Hers more than half the students, all the love. 
And so last night she fell to canvass you : 
Her countrywomen ! she did not envy her. 
* Who ever saw such wild barbarians ? 
Girls? — more like men !' and at these words the 

snake. 
My secret, seem'd to stir within my breast ; 
And oh, Sirs, could I help it, but my cheek 
Began to burn and burn, and her lynx eye 
To fix and make me hotter, till she laugh'd : 
' O marvellously modest maiden, you ! 
Men ! girls, like men! why, if they had been men 
You need not set your thoughts in rubric thus 
For wholesale comment.' Pardon, I am shamed 
That I nmst needs repeat for my excuse 
What looks so little graceful : ' men ' (for still 
My mother went revolving on the word) 



:a 




" O MARVELLOUSLY MODEST MAIDEN, YOU !" 



46 The Princess ; 



* And so they are, — very like men indeed — 
And with that woman closeted for hours !' 
Then came these dreadful words out one by one, 
' Why — these — are — men :' I shuddered : * and 

you know it.' 
' O ask me nothing, ' I said : ' And she knows too, 
And she conceals it.' So my mother clutch 'd 
The truth at once, but with no word from me ; 
And now thus early risen she goes to inform 
The Princess : Lady Psyche will be crush' d ; 
But you may yet be saved, and therefore fly : 
But heal me with your pardon ere you go." 

" What pardon, sweet Melissa, for a blush ?" 
Said Cyril : " Pale one, blush again : than wear 
Those lilies, better blush our lives away. 
Yet let us breathe for one hour more in Heaven." 
He added, "lest some classic Angel speak 
In scorn of us, ' They mounted, Ganymedes, 
To tumble, Vulcans, on the second morn.' 
But I will melt this marble into wax 
To yield us farther furlough :" and he went. 

Melissa shook her doubtful curls, and thought 
He scarce would prosper. ' ' Tell us, " Florian ask'd, 
"How grew this feud between the right and left." 
'* O long ago," she said, "betwixt these two 
Division smoulders hidden ; 'tis my mother, 
Too jealous, often fretful as the wind 
Pent in a crevice : much I bear with her : 
I never knew my father, but she says 
(God help her) she was wedded to a fool ; 



^ 



A Medley. 47 

And still she rail'd against the state of things. 
She had the care of Lady Ida's youth, 
And from the Queen's decease she brought her up. 
But when your sister came she won the heart 
Of Ida : they were still together, grew 
(For so they said themselves) inosculated; 
Consonant chords that shiver to one note ; 
One mind in all things : yet my mother still 
Affirms your Psyche thieved her theories, 
And angled with them for her pupil's love : 
She calls her plagiarist ; I know not what : 
But I must go : I dare not tarry, ' ' and light, 
As flies the shadow of a bird, she fled. 

Then murmur' d Florian gazing after her, 
" An open-hearted maiden, true and pure. 
If I could love, why this were she : how pretty 
,Her blushing was, and how she blush'd again. 
As if to close with Cyril's random wish : 
Not like your Princess cramm'd with erring pride, 
Nor like poor Psyche whom she drags in tow." 

" The crane," I said, " may chatter of the crane. 
The dove may murmur of tlie dove, but I 
An eagle clang an eagle to the sphere. 
My princess, O my princess ! true she errs, 
But in her own grand way : being herself 
Three times more noble than three score of men, 
She sees herself in every woman else, 
And so she wears her error like a crown 
To blind the truth and me : for her, and her, 
Hebes are they to hand ambrosia, mix 



The Princess ; A Medley. 



The nectar ; but — ah she — whenever she moves 

The Samian Here rises and she speaks 

A Memnon smitten with the morning Sun." 

So saying from the court we paced, and gain'd 
The terrace ranged along the Northern front, 
And leaning there on those balusters, high 
Above the empurpled champaign, drank the gale 
That blown about the foliage underneath, 
And sated with the innumerable rose. 
Beat balm upon our eyelids. Hither came 
Cyril, and yawning " O hard task,'' he cried ; 
" No fighting shadows here ! I forced a way 
Thro' solid opposition crabb'd and gnarl'd. 
Better to clear prime forests, heave and thump 
A league of street in summer solstice down. 
Than hammer at this reverend gentlewoman. 
I knock'd and, bidden, enter' d ; found her there 
At point to move, and .settled in her eyes 
The green malignant light of coming storm. 
Sir, I was courteous, every phrase well-oil'd, 
As man's could be ; yet maiden-meek I pray'd 
Concealment : she demanded who we were. 
And why we came ? I fabled nothing fair. 
But, your example pilot, told her all. 
Up went the hush''d amaze of hand and eye. 
But when I dwelt upon your old affiance. 
She answered sharply that I talk'd astray. 
I urged the fierce inscription on the gate, 
And our three lives. True — we had limed our- 
selves 
With open eyes, and we must take the chance. 



50 The Princess ; 

But such extremes, I told her, well might harm 
The woman's cause. 'Not more than now,' she 

said, 
'So puddled as it is with favouritism.' 
I tried the mother's heart. Shame might befall 
Melissa, knowing, saying not she knew : 
Her answer was ' Leave me to deal with that. ' 
I spoke of war to come and many deaths, 
And she replied, her duty was to speak, 
And duty duty, clear of consequences. 
I grew discouraged. Sir ; but since I knew 
No rock so hard but that a little wave 
May beat admission in a thousand years, 
I recommenced ; ' Decide not ere you pause. 
I find you here but in the second place. 
Some say the third — the authentic foundress you. 
I offer boldly : we will seat you highest : 
Wink at our advent : help my prince to gain 
His rightful bride, and here I promise you 
Some palace in our land, where you shall reign 
The head and heart of all our fair she-world. 
And your great name flow on with broadening time 
For ever.' Well, she balanced this a little, 
And told me she would answer us to-day, 
Meantime be mute : thus much, nor more I gained." 

He ceasing, came a message from the Head. 
"That afternoon the Princess rode to take 
The dip of certain strata to the North. 
Would we go with her? we should find the land 
Worth seeing ; and the river made a fall 
Out yonder : " then she pointed on to where 



• 1 

i 



A Medley. 51 

A double hill ran up his furrowy forks 
Beyond the thick-leaved platans of the vale. 

Agreed to, this, the day fled on thro' all 
Its range of duties to the appointed hour. 
Then summon'd to the porch we went. She stood 
Among her maidens, higher by the head. 
Her back against a pillar, her foot on one 
Of those tame leopards. Kittenlike he roll'd 
And paw*d about her sandal. I drew near ; 
I gazed. On a sudden my strange seizure came 
Upon me, the weird vision of our house : 
The Princess Ida seem'd a hollow show, 
Her gay-furr'd cats a painted fantasy,^ 
Her college and her maidens, empty masks, 
And I myself the shadow of a dream, 
For all things were and were not. Yet I felt 
My heart beat thick with passion and with awe ; 
Then from my breast the involuntary sigh 
Brake, as she smote me with the light of eyes 
That lent my knee desire to kneel, and shook 
My pulses, till to horse we got, and so 
Went forth in long retinue following up 
The river as it narrow'd to the hills. 

I rode beside her and to me she said : 
" O friend, we trust that you esteem'd us not 
Too harsh to your companion yestermorn ; 
Unwillingly we spake. " " No — not to her, " 
I answer' d, "but to one of whom we spake 
Your Highness might have seem'd the thing you 
say." 



$2 The Princess ; 

''Again?" she cried, "are you ambassadresses 
From him to me ? we give you, being strange, 
A license : speak, and let the topic die." 

I stammer'd that I knew him — could have 
wished — 
" Our king expects — was there no precontract? 
There is no truer-hearted — ah, you seem 
All he prefigured, and he could not see 
The bird of passage flying south but long'd 
To follow : surely, if your Highness keep 
Your purport, you will shock him ev'n to death, 
Or baser courses, children of despair," 

"Poor boy," she said, "can he not read — no 
books ? 
Quoit, tennis, ball — no games ? nor deals in that 
Which men delight in, martial exercise ? 
To nurse a blind ideal like a girl, 
Metliinks he seems no better than a girl ; 
As girls were once, as we ourself have been : 
We had our dreams ; perhaps he mixt with them : 
We touch on our dead self, nor shun to do it. 
Being other — since we learnt our meaning here. 
To lift the woman's fall'n divinity 
Upon an even pedestal with man." 

She paused, and added with a haughtier smile 
" And as to precontracts, we move, my friend, 
At no man's beck, but know ourself and thee, 
O Vashti, noble Vashti ! Summond out 



A Medley. 



53 




" Would they grew like 
field-flowers everywhere !" 



She kept her state, and left the 

drunken king 
To brawl ^ Shushan under- 
neath the palms." 

"Alas your Highness 

breathes full Bast, ' ' I said, 
" On that which leans to you. 

I know the Prince, 
I prize his truth : and then how 

vast a work 
To assail this gray preeminence 

of man ! 

You grant me license ; might I use it ? think ; 
Bre half be done perchance your life ma}^ fail ; 
Then comes the feebler heiress of your plan. 
And takes and ruins all ; and thus your pains 
May only make that footprint upon sand 
Which old-recurring waves of prejudice 
Resmooth to nothing : might I dread that you, 
With only Fame for spouse and your great deeds 
For issue, yet may live in vain, and miss, 
Meanwhile, that every woman counts her due. 
Love, children, happiness?" 

And she exclaim 'd, 
" Peace, you young savage of the Northern wild ! 
What ! tho' your Prince's love were like a God's, 
Have we not made ourself the sacrifice ? 
You are bold indeed : we are not talk'd to thus : 
Yet will we say for children, would they grew 
Like field-flowers everywhere ! we like them well : 



54 The Princess ; 

But children die ; and let me tell you, girl, 
Howe'er you babble, great deeds cannot die ; 
They with the sun and moon renew their light 
For ever, blessing those that look on them. 
Children — that men may pluck them from our 

hearts. 
Kill us with pity, break us with ourselves — 
O — children — there is nothing upon earth 
More miserable than she that has a son 
And sees him err : nor would we work for fame ; 
Tho' she perhaps might reap the applause of Great, 
Wlio learns the one pou STO whence after-hands 
May move the world, tho' she herself effect 
But little : wherefore up and act, nor shrink 
For fear our solid aim be dissipated 
By frail successors. Would, indeed, we had been, 
In lieu of many mortal flies, a race 
Of giants living, each, a thousand years. 
That we might see our own work out, and watch 
The sandy footprint harden into stone." 

I answer'd nothing, doubtful in myself 
If that strange Poet-princess with her grand 
Imaginations might at all be won. 
And she broke out interpreting my thoughts : 

* * No doubt we seem a kind of monster to you ; 
We are used to that : for women, up till this 
Cramp'd under worse than South-sea-isle taboo. 
Dwarfs of the gynseceum, fail so far 
In high desire, they know not, cannot guess 
How much their welfare is a passion to us. 



A Medley, 55 

If we could give them surer, quicker proof — 

Oh if our end were less achievable 

By slow approaches, than by single act 

Of immolation, any phase of death. 

We were as prompt to spring against the pikes. 

Or down the fiery gulf as talk of it. 

To compass our dear sisters' liberties." 

She bow'd as if to veil a noble tear ; 
And up we came to where the river sloped 
To plunge in cataract, shattering on black blocks 
A breadth of thunder. O'er it shook the woods. 
And danced the colour, and, below, stuck out 
The bones of some vast bulk that lived and roar'd 
Before man was. She gazed awhile and said, 
"As these rude bones to us, are we to her 
That will be." " Dare we dream of that,'' I ask'd, 
" Which wrought us, as the workman and his work. 
That practice betters?" "How," she cried, "you 

love 
The metaphysics ! read and earn our prize, 
A golden brooch : beneath an emerald plane 
Sits Diotima, teaching him that died 
Of hemlock ; our device ; wrought to the life ; 
She rapt upon her subject, he on her : 
For there are schools for all." "And yet" I said 
* Methinks I have not found among them all 
One anatomic." "Nay, we thought of that," 
She answer' d, "but it pleased us not : in truth 
We shudder but to dream our maids should ape 
Those monstrous males that carve the living hound 
And cram him with the fragments of the grave, 



56 The Princess ; A Medley. 

Or in the dark dissolving human heart, 

And holy secrets of this microcosm, 

Dabbling a shameless hand with shameful jest, 

Bncarnalize their spirits : yet we know 

Knowledge is knowledge, and this matter hangs : 

Howbeit ourself, foreseeing casualty, 

Nor willing men should come among us, learnt, 

For many weary moons before we came, 

This craft of healing. Were you sick, ourself 

Would tend upon you. To your question now, 

Which touches on the workman and his work. 

Let there be light and there was light : 'tis so : 

For was, and is, and will be, are but is ; 

And all creation is one act at once. 

The birth of light : but we that are not all, 

As, parts, can see but parts, now this, now that, 

And live, perforce, from thought to thought, and 

make 
One act a phantom of succession : thus 
Our weakness somehow shapes the shadow, Time ; 
But in the shadow will we work, and mould 
The woman to the fuller day." 

She spake 
With kindled eyes : we rode a league beyond. 
And, o'er a bridge of pinewood crossing, came 
On flowery levels underneath the crag. 
Full of all beauty, ** O how sweet" I said 
(For I was half-oblivious of my mask) 
*' To linger here with one that loved us." " Yea," 
She answer'd, "or with fair philosophies 
That lift the fancy; for indeed these fields 
Are lovely, lovelier not the Blysian lawns, 




" I WITH MINE AFFIANCED." 



58 The Princess; 



Where paced the Demigods of old, and saw 

The soft white vapour streak the crowned towers 

Built to the Sun :" then, turning to her maids, 

" Pitch our pavilion here upon the sward ; 

Lay out the viands." At the word, they raised 

A tent of satin, elaborately wrought 

With fair Corinna's triumph ; here she stood, 

Engirt with many a florid maiden-cheek. 

The woman-conquerer ; woman-conquer' d there 

The bearded Victor of ten-thousand hymns, 

And all the men mourn'd at his side : but we 

Set forth to climb ; then, climbing, Cyril kept 

With Psyche, with Melissa Florian, I 

With mine affianced. Many a little hand 

Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks, 

Many a light foot shone like a jewel set 

In the dark crag : and then we turn'd, we wound 

About the cliffs, the copses, out and in. 

Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names 

Of shale and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, 

Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the Sun 

Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all 

The rosy heights came out above the lawns. 



A Medley. 59 



The splendour falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story : 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying 

O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear. 

And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
O sweet and far from cliff and scar 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O love, they die in yon rich sky. 

They faint on hill or field or river : 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul 
And grow for ever and for ever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 



6o 



The Princess ; 




'' There sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun." 



PART IV. 



+ 



" There sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun, 
If that hypothesis of theirs be sound " 
Said Ida ; "let us down and rest ;" and we 
Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices, 
By every coppice-feather' d chasm and cleft, 
Dropt thro' the ambrosial gloom to where below 
No bigger than a glow-worm shone the tent 
Lamp-lit from the inner. Once she lean'd on me. 
Descending ; once or twice she lent her hand. 
And blissful palpitations in the blood. 
Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell. 



But when we planted level feet, and dipt 
Beneath the satin dome and enter'd in, 
There leaning deep in broider'd down we sank 
Our elbows : on a tripod in the midst 
A fragrant flame rose, and before us glow'd 
Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold. 



A Medley. 



6i 



Then she, ' ' Let some 

one sing to us ; lightlier 

move 
The minutes fledged with 

music :" and a maid, 
Of those beside her, smote 

her harp, and sang. 

" Tears, idle tears, I 

know not what they 

mean. 
Tears from the depth of 

some divine despair 
Rise in the heart, and 

gather to the eyes. 
In looking on the happy 

Autumn-fields, 
And thinking of the days 

that are no more. 



" Fresh as the first beam 
glittering on a sail, 

That brings ourfriends up 
from the underworld, 

Sad as the last which red- 
dens over one 

That sinks with all we love 
below the verge ; 

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more 




' And a maid, of those beside her, 
smote her harp, and sang." 



"Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds 
To dying ears, wh»^n unto dying eyes 
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; 
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 



62 The Princess ; 

" Dear as remember'd kisses after death, 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd 
On lips that are for others ; deep as love, 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; 
O Death in Life, the days that are no more." 

She ended with such passion that the tear, 
She sang of, shook and fell, an erring pearl 
Lost in her bosom : but with some disdain 
Answer'd the Princess, " If indeed there haunt 
About the moulder'd lodges of the Past 
So sweet a voice and vague, fatal to men. 
Well needs it we should cram our ears with wool 
And so pace by : but thine are fancies hatch' d 
In silken-folded idleness ; nor is it 
Wiser to weep a true occasion lost. 
But trim our sails, and let old bygones be. 
While down the streams that float us each and all 
To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice, 
Throne after throne, and molten on the waste 
Becomes a cloud : for all things serve their time ■ 
Toward that great year of equal mights and rights, 
Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the end 
Found golden : let the past be past ; let be 
Their cancell'd Babels : tho' the rough kex break 
The Starr' d mosaic, and the beard-blown goat 
Hang on the shaft, and the wild figtree split 
Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear 
A trumpet in the distance pealing news 
Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns 
Above the unrisen morrow :" then to me ; 
** Know you no song of your own land," she said, 



A Medley, 



" Not such as moans about 
the retrospect, 

But deals with the other dis- 
tance and the hues 

Of promise ; not a death'r- 
head at the wine," 

Then I remember' d one 

myself had made, 
What time I watch' d the 

swallow winging south 
From mine own land, part 

made long since, and part 
Now while I sang, and 

maidenlike as far 
As I could ape their treble, 

did I sinsr. 




O Swallow. Swallow, 
FLYING South." 



"O Swallow. Swallow, flying, flying South, 
Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, 
And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. 

*'0 tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, 
That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, 
And dark and true and tender is the North. 

" O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light 
Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, 
And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. 

" O were I thou that she might take me in, 
And lay me on her bosom, and her heart 
Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. 



64 The Princess ; 

" Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, 
Delaying as the tender ash delays 
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green ? 

" O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown : 
Say to her I do but wanton in the South, 
But in the North long since my nqst is made. 

" O tell her, brief is life but love is long. 
And brief the sun of summer in the North, 
And brief the moon of beauty in the South. 

" O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, 
Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine. 
And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee." 

I ceased, aud all the ladies, each at each, 
Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time, 
Stared with great eyes, and laugh'd with alien lips, 
And knew not what they meant ; for still my voice 
Rang false : but smiling "Not for thee," she said, 
" O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan 
Shall burst her veil : marsh-divers, rather, maid, 
Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake 
Grate her harsh kindred in the grass : and this 
A mere love-poem ! O for such, my friend. 
We hold them slight : they mind us of the time 
When we made bricks in Kgypt. Knaves are men, 
That lute and flute fantastic tenderness, 
And dress the victim to the offering up. 
And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise, 
And play the slave to gain the tyranny. 
Poor soul ! I had a maid of honour once ; 
She wept her true eyes blind for such a one, 



A Medley. 65 

A rogue of canzonets and serenades. 

I loved her. Peace be with her. She is dead. 

So they blaspheme the muse ! But great is song 

Used to great ends ; ourself have often tried 

Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dash'd 

The passion of the prophetess ; for song 

Is duer unto freedom, force and growth 

Of spirit than to junketing and love. 

Love is it ? Would this same mock-love, and this 

Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats, 

Till all men grew to rate us at our worth, 

Not vassals to be beat, nor pretty babes 

To be dandled, no, but living wills, and sphered 

Whole in ourselves and owed to none. Bnough ! 

But now to leaven play with profit, you, 

Know you no song, the true growth of your soil. 

That gives the manners of your countrywomen ?" 

She spoke and turn'd her sumptuous head with 
eyes 
Of shining expectation fixt on mine. 
Then while I dragg'd my brains for such a song, 
Cyril, with whom the bell-mouth-d glass had 

wrought. 
Or mastered by the sense of sport, began 
To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch 
Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences 
Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him, 
I frowning ; Psyche flush'd and wann'd and shook ; 
The lilylike Melissa droop'd her brows ; 
''Forbear," the Princess cried ; " Forbear, Sir" I ; 
And heated thro' and thro' with wrath and love. 




66 The Princess ; 

I smote him on the breast ; he started 

up; 
There rose a shriek as of a city sack'd ; 
Melissa clamour'd " Flee the death ;" 

"To horse" 
Said Ida ; * ' home ! to horse !" and 
\ fled, as flies 

'' A troop of snowy doves athwart the 
dusk, 

^ When some one batters at the dove- 

" Began to troll a 

CARELESS, CARELESS cote-doors, 

TAVERN-CATCH." Disorderly the women. Alone I stood 

With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart. 
In the pavilion : there like parting hopes 
I heard them passing from me : hoof by hoof, 
And every hoof a knell to my desires, 
Clang' d on the bridge ; and then another shriek, 
"The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head !" 
For blind with rage she miss'd the plank, and roll'd 
In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom : 
There whirled her white robe like a blossom'd branch 
Rapt in the horrible fall : a glance I gave, 
No more ; but women-vested as I was 
Plunged ; and the flood drew ; yet I caught her ; 

then 
Oaring one arm, and bearing in my left 
The weight of all the hopes of half the world, 
Strove to buffet to land in vain. A tree 
Was half-disrooted from his place and stoop'd 
To drench his dark locks in the gurgling wave 
Mid-channel, Right on this we drove and caught. 
And grasping down the bows I gain'd the shore. 



A Medley. 



67 



There stood her maidens glimmeringly group'd 
In the hollow bank. One reaching forward drew 
My burthen from mine arms ; they cried * ' she 
lives :" 




"Found at length the garden portals." 

They bore her back into the tent : but I, 

So much a kind of shame within me wrought, 

Not yet endured to meet her opening eyes, 

Nor found my friends ; but pushed alone on foot 



68 The Princess j 



(For since her horse was lost I left her mine) 
Across the woods, and less from Indian craft 
Than beelike instinct hiveward, found at length 
The garden portals. Two great statues, Art 
And Science, Caryatids, lifted up 
A weight of emblem, and betwixt were valves 
Of open-work in which the hunter rued 
Hi-s rash intrusion, manlike, but his brows 
Had sprouted, and the branches thereupon 
Spread out at top, and grimly spiked the gates. 

A little space was left between the horns. 
Thro' which I clamber' d o'er at top with pain, 
Dropt on the sward, and up the linden walks. 
And, tost on thoughts that changed from hue to 

hue, 
Now poring on the glowworm, now the star, 
I paced the terrace, till the Bear had wheel' d 
Thro' a great arc his seven slow suns. 

A step 
Of lightest echo, then a loftier form 
Than female, moving thro' the uncertain gloom, 
Disturb' d me with the doubt " if this were she," 
But it was Florian. " Hist O Hist," he said, 
"They seek us : out so late is out of rules. 
Moreover ' seize the strangers' is the cry. 
How came you here?" I told him : "I'' said he, 
" lyast of the train, a moral leper, I, 
To whom none spake, half-sick at heart, retum'd. 
Arriving all confused among the rest 
With hooded brows I crept into the hall, 
And, couch'd behind a Judith, underneath 



A Medley. 69 

The head of Holofernes peep'd and saw. 

Girl after girl was call'd to trial : each 

Disclaimei all knowledge of us : last of all, 

Melissa : trust me, Sir, I pitied her. 

She, question'd if she knew us men, at first 

Was silent ; closer prest, denied it not : 

And then, demanded if her mother knew, 

Or Psyche, she affirm'd not, or denied : 

From whence the Royal mind, familiar with her, 

Basily gather'd either guilt. She sent 

For Psyche, but she was not there ; she call'd 

For Psyche's child to cast it from the doors ; 

She sent for Blanche to accuse her face to face ; 

And I slipt out : but whither will you now ? 

And where are Psyche, Cyril ? both are fled : 

What, if together? that were not so well. 

Would rather we had never come ! I dread 

His wildness, and the chances of the dark." 

** And yet," I said, " you wrong him more than I 
That struck him : this is proper to the clown, 
Tho' smock'd, or furr'd and purpled, still the clown. 
To harm the thing that trusts him, and to shame 
That which he says he loves : for Cyril, howe'er 
He deal in frolic, as to-night — the song 
Might have been worse and sinn'd in grosser lips 
Beyond all pardon — as it is, I hold 
These flashes on the surface are not he. 
He has a solid base of temperament : 
But as the waterlily starts and slides 
Upon the level in little puffs of wind, 
Tho' anchored to the bottom, such is he." 



70 



The Princess ; 




" They haled us to the Princess 
where she sat high in the hall." 



Scarce had I ceased 
when from a tamarisk 
near 

Two Proctors leapt upon 
US, crying, " Names :" 

He, standing still, was 
clutch'd, but I began 

To thrid the musky-cir- 
cled mazes, wind 

And double in and out the 
boles, and race 

By all the fountains : fleet 
I was of foot : 

Before me shower' d the 
rose in flakes ; behind 

I heard the puff'd pur- 
suer ; at mine ear 

Bubbled the nightingale 
and heeded not. 

And secret laughter 
tickled all my soul. 

At last I hook'd my ankle 
in a vine, 

That claspt the feet of a 
Mnemosyne, 

And falling on my face was 
caught and known. 



They haled us to the Princess where she sat 
High in the hall : above her droop' d a lamp, 
And made the single jewel on her brow 



A Medley. 71 

Burn like the mystic fire on a mast-head, 
Prophet of storm : a handmaid on each side 
Bow'd toward her, combing out her long black hair 
Damp from the river ; and close behind her stood 
Bight daughters of the plough, stronger than men. 
Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and 

rain, 
And labour. Kach was like a Druid rock ; 
Or like a spire of land that stands apart 
Cleft from the main, and wail'd about with mews. 

Then, as we came, the crowd dividing clove 
An advent to the throne : and therebeside, 
Half-naked as if caught at once from bed 
And tumbled on the purple footcloth, lay 
The lily-shining child ; and on the left, 
Bow'd on her palms and folded up from wrong. 
Her round white shoulder shaken with her sobs, 
Melissa knelt ; but Lady Blanche erect 
Stood up and spake, an affluent orator. 

** It was not thus, O Princess, in old days: 
You prized my counsel, lived upon my lips : 
I led you then to all the Castalies ; 
I fed you with the milk of every Muse ; 
I loved you like this kneeler, and you me 
Your second mother : those were gracious times. 
Then came your new friend : you began to change — - 
I saw it and grieved — to slacken and to cool ; 
Till taken with her seeming openness 
You turn'd your warmer currents all to her, 
To me you froze : this was my meed for all. 



72 The Princess ; 



Yet I bore up in part from ancient love, 
And partly that I hoped to win you back, 
And partly conscious of my own deserts, 
And partly that you were my civil head, 
And chiefly you were born for something great. 
In which I might your fellow-worker be, 
When time should serve ; and thus a noble scheme 
Grew up from seed we two long since had sown ; 
In us true growth, in her a Jonah's gourd. 
Up in one night and due to sudden sun : 
We took this palace ; but even from the first 
You stood in your own light and darken'd mine. 
What student came but that you planed her path 
To Lady Psyche, younger, not so wise, 
A foreigner, and I your countrywoman, 
I your old friend and tried, she new in all ? 
But still her lists were swell'd and mine were lean ; 
Yet I bore up in hope she would be known : 
Then came these wolves : they knew her : they en- 
dured, 
Long-closeted with her the yestermorn , 
To tell her what they were, and she to hear : 
And me none told : not less to an eye like mine, 
A lidless watcher of the public weal, 
Last night their mask was patent, and my foot 
Was to you : but I thought again : I fear'd 
To meet a cold '' We thank you, we shall hear of it 
From Lady Psyche f yow. had gone to her, 
She told perforce ; and winning easy grace. 
No doubt, for slight delay, remain 'd among us 
In our young nursery still unknown, the stem 
Less grain than touchwood, while my honest heat 



A Medley. 73 



Were all miscounted as malignant haste '^ 



To push my rival out of place and power. 

But public use required she should be known ; 

And since my oath was ta'en for public use, 

I broke the letter of it to keep the sense. 

I spoke not then at first, but watch' d them well, 

Saw that they kept apart, no mischief done ; 

And yet this day (tho' you should hate me for it) 

I came to tell you ; found that you had gone, 

Ridd'n to the hills, she likewise : now, I thought. 

That surely she will speak ; if not, then I : 

Did she ? These monsters blazon'd what they were. 

According to the coarseness of their kind, 

For thus I hear ; and known at last (my work) 

And full of cowardice and guilty shame, 

I grant in her some sense of shame, she flies ; 

And I remain on whom to wreak your rage, 

I, that have lent my life to build up yours, 

I that have wasted here health, wealth, and time, 

And talent, I — you know it — I will not boast : 

Dismiss me, and I prophesy your plan. 

Divorced from my experience, will be chaff 

For every gust of chance, and men will say 

We did not know the real light, but chased 

The wisp that flickers where no foot can tread. ' 

She ceased: the Princess answer'd coldly, ''Good: 
Your oath is broken : we dismiss you : go. 
For this lost lamb (she pointed to the child) 
Our mind is changed : we take it to ourself " 

Thereat the I^ady stretch 'd a vulture throat, 



74 The Princess ; 

And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile. 

** The plan was mine. I built the nest " she said 

"To hatch the cuckoo. Rise !" and stoop'd to up- 

drag 
Melissa : she, half on her mother propt, 
Half-drooping from her, turned her face, and cast 
A liquid look on Ida, full of prayer, 
Which melted Florian's fancy as she hung, 
A Niobean daughter, one arm out, 
Appealing to the bolts of Heaven ; and while 
We gazed upon her came a little stir 
About the doors, and on a sudden rush'd 
Among us, out of breath, as one pursued, 
A woman-post in flying raiment. Fear 
Stared in her eyes, and chalk' d her face, and wing'd 
Her transit to the throne, whereby she fell 
Delivering seal'd dispatches which the Head 
Took half-amazed, and in her lion's mood 
Tore open, silent we with blind surmise 
Regarding, while she read, till over brow 
And cheek and bosom brake the wrathful bloom 
As of some fire against a stormy cloud. 
When the wild peasant rights himself, the rick 
Flames, and his anger reddens in the Heavens ; 
For anger most it seem'd, while now her breast 
Beaten with some great passion at her heart. 
Palpitated, her hand shook, and we heard 
In the dead hush the papers that she held 
Rustle : at once the lost lamb at her feet 
Sent out a bitter bleating for its dam ; 
The plaintive cry jarr'd on her ire ; she crush'd 
The scrolls together, made a sudden turn 






A Medley. 



75 



As if to speak, but, utterance failing her, 
She whirl' d them on to me, as who should say 
"Read," and I read — two letters — one her sire's. 




And wing'd her transit to the throne. 



"Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince your 
way 
We knew not your ungracious laws, which learnt, 



76 The Princess ; 

We, conscious of what temper you are built, 

Came all in haste to hinder wrong, but fell ; 

Into his father's hands, who has this night, .' 

You lying close upon his territory, I 

Slipt round and in the dark invested you. 

And here he keeps me hostage for his son." ; 

The second was my father's running thus : j 

"You have our son : touch not a hair of his head : j 

Render him up unscathed : give him your hand : j 

Cleave to your contract : tho' indeed we hear i 
You hold the woman is the better man ; 

A rampant heresy, such as if it spread , 

Would make all women kick against their Lords j 
Thro' all the world, and which might well deserve 

That we this night should pluck your palace down ; j 
And we will do it, unless you send us back 

Our son, on the instant, whole." ] 

So far I read : j 

And then stood up and spoke impetuously. 1 

" O not to pry and peer on your reserve, j 

But led by golden wishes, and a hope \ 

The child of regal compact, did I break ^ 

Your precinct ; not a scorner of your sex ] 
But venerator, zealous it should be 

All that it might be : hear me, for I bear, i 

Tho' man, yet human, whatsoe'er your wrongs, j 
From the flaxen curl to the gray lock a life 

Less mine than yours ; my nurse would tell me of ; 

you; ! 

I babbled for you, as babies for the moon, ; 



A Medley. 



77 



Vague brightness ; when a boy, you stoop' d to me 

From all high places, lived in all fair lights. 

Came in long breezes rapt from inmost south 

And blown to inmost north ; at eve and dawn 

With Ida, Ida, Ida, rang the woods ; 

The leader wildswan in among the stars 

Would clang it, and lapt in wreaths of glowworm 

light 
The mellow breaker murmur' d Ida. Now, 
Because I would have reach'd you, had you been 
Sphered up with Cassiopeia, or the enthroned 




The leader wildswan in among the stars. 



Persephone in Hades, now at length. 

Those winters of abeyance all worn out, 

A man I came to see you : but, indeed. 

Not in this frequence can I lend full tongue, 

O noble Ida, to those thoughts that wait 

On you, their centre : let me say but this, 

That many a famous man and woman, town 

And landskip, have I heard of, after seen 

The dwarfs of presage : tho' when known, there 

grew 
Another kind of beauty in detail 



78 The Princess ; 

Made them worth knowing ; but in you I found 
My boyish dream involved and dazzled down 
And master' d, while that after-beaut}^ makes 
Such head from act to act, from hour to hour, 
Within me, that except you slay me here, 
According to your bitter statute-book, 
I cannot cease to follow you, as they say 
The seal does music ; who desire j-ou more 
Than growing boys their manhood ; dying lips, 
With many thousand matters left to do, 
The breath of life ; O more than poor men wealth, 
Thau sick men health — yours, yours, not mine — 

but half 
Without 3'ou ; with 3'ou, whole ; and of those 

halves 
You worthiest ; and howe'er 30U block and bar 
Your heart with s^-stem out from mine, I hold 
That it becomes no man to nurse despair. 
But in the teeth of clench'd antagonisms 
To follow up the worthiest till he die : 
Yet that I came not all unauthorized 
Behold your father's letter." 

On one knee 
Kneeling, I gave it, which she caught, and dash'd 
Unopen'd at her feet : a tide of fierce 
Invective seem'd to wait behind her lips. 
As waits a river level with the dam 
Ready to burst and flood the world with foam : 
And so she would have spoken, but there rose 
A hubbub in the court of half the maids 
Gathered together : from the illumined hall 
Long lanes of splendour slanted o'er a press 



A Medley. 79 

Of snowy shoulders, thick as herded ewes, 
And rainbow robes, and gems and gemlike eyes, 
And gold and golden heads ; they to and fro 
Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some 

pale. 
All open-mouth'd, all gazing to the light. 
Some crying there was an army in the land, 
And some that men were in the very walls, 
And some they cared not ; till a clamour grew 
As of a new- world Babel, woman-built. 
And worse-confounded : high above them stood 
The placid marble Muses, looking peace. 

Not peace she look'd, the Head : but rising up 
Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so 
To the open window moved, remaining there 
Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves 
Of tempest, when the crimson-rolling eye 
Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light 
Dash themselves dead. She stretched her arms and 

caird 
Across the tumult and the tumult fell. 

"What fear ye, brawlers? ani not I your Head? 
On me, me, me, the storm first breaks : / dare 
All these male thunderbolts : what is it ye fear ? 
Peace ! there are those to avenge us and they come : 
If not, — myself were like enough, O girls, 
To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights. 
And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, 
Or, falling, protomartyr of our cause, 
Die : yet I blame you not so much for fear ; 



8o The Princess ; A Medley. 

Six thousand years of fear have made you that 
From which I would redeem yoa : but for those 
That stir this hubbub — you and you — I know 
Your faces there in the crowd — to-morrow morn 
We hold a great convention : then shall they 
That love their voices more than duty, learn 
With whom they deal, dismissed in shame to live 
No wiser than their mothers, household stuff, 
Ivive chattels, mincers of each other's fame, 
Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown, 
The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time, 
Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels, 
But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum, 
To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour. 
For ever slaves at home and fools abroad." 

She, ending, waved her hands : thereat the crowd 
Muttering, dissolved : then with a smile, that look'd 
A stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff, 
When all the gletjs are drown 'd in azure gloom 
Of thunder-shower, she floated to us and said : 

* ' You have done well and like a gentleman, 
And like a prince : you have our thanks for all : 
And you look well too in your woman's dress : 
Well have you done and like a gentleman. 
You saved our life : we owe you bitter thanks : 
Better have died and spilt our bones in the flood — 
Then men had said — but now — What hinders me 
To take such bloody vengeance on you both ? — 
Yet since our father — Wasps in our good hive, 
You would-be quenchers of the light to be, 





Theypush'd us, down the steps, and thro' the court." 



82 The Princess; 

Barbarians, grosser than your native bears — 

would I bad bis sceptre for one bour ! 

You tbat bave dared to break our bound, and gulFd 
Our servants, wrong'd and lied and tb warted us — 
/ wed witb tbee ! / bound by precontract 
Your bride, your bondslave ! not tbo' all the gold 
Tbat veins tbe world were packed to make your 

crown, 
And every spoken tongue should lord you. Sir, 
Your falsehood and yourself are hateful to us : 

1 trample on your offers and on you : 
Begone : we will not look upon you more. 
Here, push them out at gates." 

In wrath she spake. 
Then those eight mighty daughters of the plough 
Bent their broad faces toward us and address'd 
Their motion : twice I sought to plead my cause. 
But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands 
The weight of destiny : so from her face 
They push'd us, down the steps, and thro' the 

court. 
And with grim laughter thrust us out at gates. 

We cross'd the street and gain'd a petty mound 
Beyond it, whence we saw the lights and heard 
The voices murmuring. While I listen 'd, came 
On a sudden the weird seizure and the doubt : 
I seem'd to move among a world of ghosts ; 
The Princess with her monstrous woman-guard. 
The jest and earnest working side by side, 
The cataract and the tumult and the kings 
Were shadows ; and the long fantastic night 



A Medley. 85 

Wifh. all its doings had and had not been, 
And all things were and were not. 

This went "by 
As strangely as it came, and on my spirits 
Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy ; 
Not long ; I shook it off ; for spite of doubts 
And sudden ghostly shadowings I was one 
To whom the touch of all mischance but came 
As night to him that sitting on a hill 
Sees the midsummer, midnight, Norway sun 
Set into sunrise ; then we moved away. 



84 The Princess 



Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums, 

That beat to battle where he stands ; 
Thy face across his fancy comes, 

And gives the battle to his hands : 
A moment, while the trumpets blow, 

He sees his brood about thy knee ; 
The next, like fire he meets the foe, 

And strikes him dead for thine and thee. 

So lyilia sang : we thought her half-possess'd, 
She struck such warbling fury thro' the words ; 
And, after, feigning pique at what she call'd 
The raillery, or grotesque, or false sublime — 
I/ike one that wishes at a dance to change 
The music — clapt her hands and cried for war, 
Or some grand fight to kill and make an end : 
And he that next inherited the tale 
Half turning to the broken statue, said, 
* ' Sir Ralph has got your colours : if I prove 
Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me ?'' 
It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb 
Lay by her like a model of her hand. 
She took it and she flung it. " Fight " she said, 
" And make us all we would be, great and good." 
He knightlike in his cap instead of casque, 
A cap of Tyrol borrowed from the hall, 
Arranged the favour, and assumed the Prince. 



A Medley, 



85 



PART V. 

Now, Scarce three paces measured from the mound, 

We stumbled on a stationary voice, 

And ' ' Stand, who goes ?" "Two from the palace " I. 



/ 




** The second two : they wait," he said, *' pass on ; 
His Highness wakes :" and one, that clash' d in 

arms. 
By glimmering lanes and walls of canvas led 



86 The Princess ; 

Threading the soldier-city, till we heard 
The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake 
From blazon'd lions o'er the imperial tent 
Whispers of war. 

Entering, the sudden light 
Dazed me half-blind : I stood and seemed to hear 
As in a poplar grove when a light wind wakes 
A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies, 
Kach hissing in his neighbor's ear, and then 
A strangled titter, out of which there brake 
On all sides, clamoring etiquette to death, 
Unmeasured mirth ; while now the two old kings 
Began to wag their baldness up and down, 
The fresh young captains flash'd their glittering 

teeth, 
The huge bush-bearded Barons heaved and blew, 
And slain with laughter roird the gilded Squire. 

At length my Sire, his rough cheek wet with tears. 
Panted from wear}^ sides * ' King, you are free ! 
We did but keep you surety for our son, 
If this be he, — or a draggled mawkin, thou, 
That tends her bristled grunters in the sludge :" 
For I was drench'd with ooze, and torn with briers. 
More crumpled than a poppy from the sheath. 
And all one rag, disprinced from head to heel. 
Then some one sent beneath his vaulted palm 
A whisper'd jest to some one near him, " Look, 
He has been among his shadows." ** Satan take 
The old women and their shadows ! (thus the King 
Roar'd) make yourself a man to fight with men. 
Go: Cyril told us all." 



A Medley. 87 

As boys that slink 
From ferule and the trespass-chiding eye, 
Away we stole, and transient in a trice 
From what was left of faded woman-slough 
To sheathing splendours and the golden scale 
Of harness, issued in the sun, that now 
Leapt from the dewy shoulders of the Earth, 
And hit the Northern hills. Here Cyril met us. 
A little shy at first, but by and by 
We twain, with mutual pardon ask'd and given 
For stroke and song, resolder'd peace, whereon 
Followed his tale. Amazed he fled away 
Thro' the dark land, and later in the night 
Had come on Psyche weeping : " then we fell 
Into your father's hand, and there she lies. 
But will not speak, nor stir," 

He show'd a tent 
A stone-shot off : we enter d in, and there 
Among piled arms and rough accoutrements. 
Pitiful sight, wrappd in a soldier's cloak, 
Like some sweet sculpture draped from head to foot. 
And push'd by rude hands from its pedestal. 
All her fair length upon the ground she lay : 
And at her head a follower of the camp, 
A charr'd and wrinkled piece of womanhood, 
Sat watching like a watcher by the dead. 

Then Florian knelt, and " Come " he whisper'd to her, 
" Lift up your head, sweet sister : lie not thus. 
"What have you done but right ? you could not slay 
Me, nor your prince : look up : be comforted : 
Sweet is it to have done the thing one ought, 



88 The Princess ; 

When fairn in darker ways." And likewise I : 

*' Be comforted : have I not lost her too, 

In whose least act abides the nameless charm 

That none has else for me ?" She heard, she moved, 

She moan'd, a folded voice ; and up she sat. 

And raised the cloak from brows as pale and smooth 

As those that mourn half shrouded over death 




' All her fair length upon the ground she lay :" 



In deathless marble. ' ' Her, " she said, ' ' my friend — 
Parted from her — betray' d her cause and mine — 
Where shall I breathe ? why kept ye not your faith ? 
O base and bad ! what comfort? none for me !" 
To whom remorseful Cyril, *' Yet I pray 
Take comfort : live, dear lady, for your child !" 
At which she lifted up her voice and cried. , 



J 



A Medley. 89 1 

** Ah me, my babe, my blossom, ah, my child, \ 
My one sweet child, whom I shall see no more ! 
For now will cruel Ida keep her back ; 

And either she will die from want of care, j 

Or sicken with ill-usage, when they say 1 

The child is hers — for every little fault, \ 

The child is hers ; and they will beat m}^ girl i 

Remembering her mother : O my flower ! • 

Or they will take her, they will make her hard, ■ 
And she will pass me by in after-life 

With some cold reverence worse than were she dead„ [ 

111 mother that I was to leave her there, \ 

To lag behind, scared by the cry they made, I 

The horror of the shame among them all: \ 

But I will go and sit beside the doors, j 

And make a wild petition night and da}', \ 

Until they hate to hear me like the wind j 

Wailing for ever, till they open to me, ^ 

And lay my little blossom at my feet, | 

My babe, my sweet Aglaia, my one child : ( 
And I will take her up and go my way. 
And satisfy my soul with kissing her : 
Ah ! what might that man not deserve of me 

Who gave me back my child ?" * ' Be comforted, " 1 

said Cyril, '* you shall have it :"" but again ; 

She veil'd her brows, and prone she sank, and so | 

Ivike tender things that being caught feign death, 1 
Spoke not, nor stirr'd. 

By this a murmur ran 

Thro' all the camp and inward raced the scouts i 

With rumour of Prince Arac hard at hand. \ 
We left her by the woman, and without 



90 The Princess ; A Medley. 

Found the gray kings at parle : and ' ' Ivook you '' cried 

My father " that our compact be fulfill'd : 

You have spoilt this child ; she laughs at you and 

man : 
She wrongs herself, her sex, and me, and him : 
But red-faced war has rods of steel and fire ; 
She yields, or war." 

Then Gama turned to me : 
* ' We fear, indeed, you spent a stormy time 
With our strange girl : and yet they say that still 
You love her. Give us, then, your mind at large : 
How say you, war or not ?" 

' ' Not war, if possible, 
O king, '' I said, ' ' lest from the abuse of war, 
The desecrated shrine, the trampled year. 
The smouldering homestead, and the household 

flower 
Torn from the lintel — all the common wrong — 
A smoke go up thro' which I loom to her 
Three times a monster : now she lightens scorn 
At him that mars her plan, but then would hate 
(And every voice she talk'd with ratify it, 
And every face she look'd on justify it) 
The general foe. More soluble is this knot, 
By gentleness than war. I want her love. 
What were I nigher this altho' we dash'd 
Your cities into shards with catapults, 
She would not love ; — or brought her chain'd, a 

slave, 
The lifting of whose eyelash is my lord, 
Not ever would she love ; but brooding turn 
The book of scorn, till all my flitting chance 



92 The Princess ; 

Were caught within the record of her wrongs, 
And crush' d to death : and rather, Sire, than this 
I would the old God of war himself were dead, 
Forgotten, rusting on his iron hills. 
Rotting on some wild shore with ribs of wreck. 
Or like an old-world mammoth bulk'd in ice, 
Not to be molten out." 

And roughly spake 
My father, "Tut, you know them not, the girls. 
Boy, when I hear you prate I almost think 
That idiot legend credible. Look you. Sir ! 
Man is the hunter ; woman is his game : 
The sleek and shining creatures of the chase. 
We hunt them for the beauty of their skins ; 
They love us for it, and we ride them down. 
Wheedling knd siding with them ! Out ! for shame \ 
Boy, theie's no rose that's half so dear to them 
As he that does the thing they dare not do, 
Breathing and sounding beauteous battle, comes 
With the air of the trumpet round him, and leaps in 
Among the women, snares them by the score 
Flatter'd and fluster'd, wins, though dash'd with death 
He reddens what he kisses : thus I won 
Your mother, a good mother, a good wife, 
Worth winning ; but this firebrand — gentleness 
To such as her ! if Cyril spake her true. 
To catch a dragon in a cherry net, 
To trip a tiger with a gossamer. 
Were wisdom to it." 

"Yea but Sire,'' I cried, 
" Wild natures need wise curbs. The soldier ? No : 
What dares not Ida do that she should prize 



A Medley. 93 

The soldier? I beheld her, when she rose 

The yesternight, and storming in extremes, 

Stood for her cause, and flung defiance down 

Gagelike to man, and had not shunn'd the death, 

No, not the soldier's : yet I hold her, king. 

True woman : but you clash them all in one, 

That have as many differences as we. 

The violet varies from the lily as far 

As oak from elm : one loves the soldier, one 

The silken priest of peace, one this, one that, 

And some unworthily ; their sinless faith, 

A maiden moon that sparkles on a sty, 

Glorifying clown and satyr ; whence they need 

I\Tore breadth of culture : is not Ida right? 

They worth it ? truer to the law within ? 

Severer in the logic of a life ? 

Twice as magnetic to sweet influences 

Of earth and Heaven ? and she of whom you speak, 

My mother, looks as whole as some serene 

Creation minted in the golden moods 

Of sovereign artists ; not a thought, a touch. 

But pure as lines of green that streak the white 

Of the first snowdrop's inner leaves ; I say, 

Not like the piebald miscellany, man, 

Bursts of great heart and slips in sensual mire, 

But whole and one : and take them all-in-all. 

Were we ourselves but half as good, as kind, 

As truthful, much that Ida claims as right 

Had ne'er been mooted, but as frankly theirs 

As dues of Nature. To our point : not war : 

Lest I lose all." 

" Nay, nay, you spake but sense" 



94 The Princess; 

Said Gama. We remember love ourself 

In our sweet youth ; we did not rate him then 

This red-hot iron to be shaped with blows. 

You talk almost like Ida : she can talk ; 

And there is something in it as you say : 

But you talk kindlier : we esteem you for it. — 

He seems a gracious and a gallant Prince, 

I would he had our daughter : for the rest, 

Our own detention, why, the causes weigh'd, 

Fatherly fears — you used us courteously — 

We would do much to gratify your Prince — 

We pardon it ; and for your ingress here 

Upon the skirt and fringe of our fair land, 

You did but come as goblins in the night, 

Nor in the furrow broke the ploughman 's head. 

Nor burnt the grange, norbuss'd the milking-maid, 

Nor robb'd the farmer of his bowl of cream : 

But let your Prince (our royal word upon it. 

He comes back safe) ride with us to our lines, 

And speak with Arac : Arac's word is thrice 

As ours with Ida : something may be done — 

I know not what — and ours shall see us friends. 

You, likewise, our late guests, if so you will. 

Follow us : who knows ? we four may build some plan 

Foursquare to opposition.'' 

Here he reached 
White hands of farewell to my Sire, who growl' d 
An answer which, half-muffled in his beard, 
Let so much out as gave us leave to go. 

Then rode we with the old king across the lawns 
Beneath huge trees, a thousand rings of Spring 



A Medley. 95 

In every bole, a song on every spray 

Of birds that piped their Valentines, and woke 

Desire in me to infuse my tale of love 

In the old king's ears, who promised help, and oozed 

All o'er with honey'd answer as we rode 

And blossom-fragrant slipt the heavy dews 

Gather'd by night and peace, with each light air 

On our mail'd heads : but other thoughts than Peace 

Burnt in us, when we saw the embattled squares, 

And squadrons of the Prince, trampling the flowers 




" Of birds that pipbd their Valentines." 

With clamour : for among them rose a cry 

As if to greet the king ; they made a halt ; 

The horses yell'd ; they clash'd their arms ; the drum 

Beat ; merrilyrblowing shrill'd the martial fife ; 

And in the blast and bray of the long horn 

And serpent-throated bugle, undulated 

The banner : anon to meet us lightly pranced 

Three captains out ; nor ever had I seen 

Such thews of men ; the midmost and the highest 

Was Arac : all about his motion clung 



96 The Princess ; 

The shadow of his sister, as the beam 

Of the Kast, that play'd upon them, made them 

glance 
Like those three stars of the airy giant's zone, 
That glitter burnish 'd by the frosty dark ; 
And as the fiery Sirius alters hue, 
And bickers into red and emerald, shone 
Their morions, wash'd with morning, as they came. 

And I that prated peace, when first I heard 
War-music, felt the blind wildbeast of force, 
Whose home is in the sinews of a man. 
Stir in me as to strike : then took the king 
His three broad sons ; with now a wandering hand 
And now a pointed finger, told them all : 
A common light of smiles at our disguise 
Broke from their lips, and, ere the windy jest 
Had labour'd down within his ample lungs, 
The genial giant, Arac, roll'd himself 
Thrice in the saddle, then burst out in words. 

"Our land invaded, 'sdeath ! and he himself 
Your captive, yet my father wills not war : 
And 'sdeath ! myself, what care I, war or no ? 
But then this question of your troth remains : 
And there's a downright honest meaning in her ; 
She flies too high, she flies too high ! and yet 
She ask'd but space and fairplay for her scheme ; 
She prest and prest it on me — I myself, 
What know I of these things ? but, life and soul ! 
I thought her half-right talking of her wrongs ; 
I say she flies too high, 'sdeath ! what of that? 



A Medley. 97 

I take her for the flower of womankind, 

And so I often told her, right or wrong, 

And, Prince, she can be sweet to those she loves, 

And, right or wrong, I care not : this is all, 

I stand upon her side : she made me swear it — 

'Sdeath — and with solemn rites by candle-light — 

Swear by St. something — I forget her name — 

Her that talk'd down the fifty wisest men ; 

She was a princess too ; and so I swore. 

Come, this is all : she will not : waive your claim : 

If not, the foughten field, what else, at once 

Decides it, 'sdeath ! against my father's will." 

I lagg'd in answer loth to render up 
My precontract, and loth by brainless \\ ar 
To cleave the rift of difference deeper yet ; 
Till one of those two brothers, half aside 
And fingering at the hair about his lip. 
To prick us on to combat ' ' Like to like ! 
The woman's garment hid the woman's heart." 
A taunt that clench 'd his purpose like a blow ! 
For fiery-short was Cyril's counter-scoff. 
And sharp I answer'd, touch' d upon the point 
"Where idle boys are cowards to their shame, 
" Decide it here : why not ? we are three to three." 

Then spake the third ' ' But three to three ? no more ? 
No more, and in our noble sisters cause ? 
More, more, for honour : every captain waits 
Hungry for honour, angry for his king. 
More, more, some fifty on a side, that each 



98 The Princess ; A Medley. 

May breathe himself, and quick ! by overthrow 
Of these or those, the question settled die." 

" Yea," answer'd I, " for this wild wreath of air, 
This flake of rainbow flying on the highest 
Foam of men's deeds — this honour, if ye will. 
It needs must be for honour if at all : 
Since, what decision ? if we fail, we fail, 
And if we win, we fail : she would not keep 
Her compact. " " ' Sdeath ! but we will send to her, " 
Said Arac, * ' worthy reasons why she should 
Bide by this issue : let our missive thro'. 
And you shall have her answer by the word." 

"Boys !" shriek'd the old king, butvainlier thanahen 
To her false daughters in the pool ; for none 
Regarded ; neither seem'd there more to say : 
Back rode we to my father's camp and found. 
He thrice had sent a herald to the gates. 
To learn if Ida yet would cede our claim. 
Or by denial flush her babbling wells 
With her own people's life : three times he went : 
The first, he blew and blew, but none appear' d : 
He batter'd at the doors ; none came : the next, 
An awful voice within had warn'd him thence : 
The third, and those eight daughters of the plough * 
Came sallying thro' the gates, and caught his hair. 
And so belabour' d him on rib and cheek 
They made him wild : not less one glance he caught 
Thro' open doors of Ida station 'd there 
Unshaken, clinging to her purpose, firm 
Tho' compassed by two armies and the noise 




"He thrice had sent a herald to the gates.' 



loo The Princess ; 

Of arms ; and standing like a stately Pine 

Set in a cataract on an island-crag, 

When storm is on the heights, and right and left 

Sucked from the dark heart of the long hills roll 

The torrents, dash'd to the vale : and yet her will 

Bred will in me to overcome it or fall. 

But when I told the king that I was pledged 
To fight in tourney for my bride, he clash'd 
His iron palms together with a cry ; 
Himself would tilt it out among the lads : 
But overborne by all his bearded lords 
With reasons drawn from age and state, perforce 
He yielded, wroth and red, with fierce demur : 
And many a bold knight started up in heat, 
And sware to combat for my claim till death. 

All on this side the palace ran the field 
Flat to the garden-wall : and likewise here, 
Above the garden's glowing blossom-belts, 
A column'd entry shone and marble stairs, 
And great bronze valves, emboss'd with Tomyris 
And what she did to Cyrus after fight, 
But now fast barr'd : so here upon the flat 
All that long morn the lists were hammer'd up, 
And all that morn the heralds to and fro, 
With message and defiance, went and came ; 
Last, Ida's answer, in a royal hand. 
But shaken here and there, and rolling words 
Oration-like. I kiss'd it and I read. 

" O brother, you have known the pangs we felt, 
What heats of indignation when we heard 



A Medley. loi 

Of those that iron-cramp'd their women's feet ; 

Of lands in which at the altar the poor bride 

Gives her harsh groom for bridal-gift a scourge ; 

Of living hearts that crack within the fire 

Where smoulder their dead despots ; and of those, — 

Mothers, — that, all prophetic pity, fling 

Their pretty maids in the running flood, and swoops 

The vulture, beak and talon, at the heart 

Made for all noble motion : and I saw 

That equal baseness lived in sleeker times 

With smoother men : the old leaven leaven'd all : 

Millions of throats would bawl for civil rights, 

No woman named : therefore I set my face 

Against all men, and lived but for mine own. 

Far off" from men I built a fold for them : 

I stored it full of rich memorial : 

I fenced it round with gallant institutes. 

And biting laws to scare the beasts of prey 

And prosper' d ; till a rout of saucy boys 

Brake on us at our books, and marr'd our peace, 

Mask'd like our maids, blustering I know not what 

Of insolence and love, some pretext held 

Of baby troth, invalid, since my will 

Seal'd not the bond — the striplings ! — for their 

sport ! — 
I tamed my leopards : shall I not tame these ? 
Or you? or I ? for since you think me touch'd 
In honour — what, I would not aught of false — 
Is not our cause pure ? and whereas I know 
Your prowess, Arac, and what mother's blood 
You draw from, fight ; you failing, I abide 
What end soever : fail you will not. Still 



I02 The Princess ; A Medley. 

Take not his life : he risk'd it for my own ; 

His mother lives : yet whatsoever you do, 

Fight and fight well ; strike and strike home. O 

dear 
Brothers, the woman's Angel guards you, you 
The sole men to be mingled with our cause, 
The sole men we shall prize in the after-time. 
Your very armour hallowed, and your statues 
Reard, sung to, when, this gad-fly brush'd aside, 
We plant a solid foot into the Time, 
And mould a generation strong to move 
With claim on claim from right to right, till she 
Whose name is yoked with children's, know her- 
self ; 
And Knowledge in our own land make her free. 
And, ever following those two crowned twins, 
Commerce and conquest, shower the fiery grain 
Of freedom broadcast over all that orbs 
Between the Northern and the Southern morn." 

Then came a postscript dash'd across the rest. 
"See that there be no traitors in your camp : 
We seem a nest of traitors — none to trust 
Since our arms failed — this Bgypt-plague of men ! 
Almost our maids were better at their homes, 
Than thus man-girdled here : indeed I think 
Our chiefest comfort is the little child 
Of one unworthy mother ; which she left : 
She shall not have it back : the child shall grow 
To prize the authentic mother of her mind. 
I took it for an hour in mine own bed 
This morning : there the tender orphan hands 



"t^hih (ur the fielil 

i h ♦* It rarti* ; 

arti] far the neiul}^ 
she: . J 

>\jxn Wit fi ih^ he,id\ 

i^fu} %Ms*t»«t«» **•*■•"> I ft 




" Man for -^he field and woman for the hearth." 



I04 The Princess ; 

Felt at my heart, and seem'd to ctiarm from thence 
The wrath I nursed against the world : farewell." 

I ceased ; he said, ''Stubborn, but she may sit 
Upon a king's right hand in thunder-storms, 
And breed up warriors ! See now, tho' 3'ourself 
Be dazzled by the wildfire Ivove to sloughs 
That swallow common sense, the spindling king, 
This Gama swamp'd in lazy tolerance. 
When the man wants weight, the woman takes it up, 
And topples down the scales ; but this is fixt 
As are the roots of earth and base of all ; 
Man for the field and woman for the hearth : 
Man for the sword and for the needle she : 
Man with the head and woman with the heart : 
Man to command and woman to obey ; 
All else confusion. Look you ! the gray mare 
Is ill to live with, when her whinny shrills 
From tile to scullery, and her small goodman 
Shrinks in his arm-chair while the fires of Hell 
Mixed with his hearth : but you — she's yet a colt — 
Take, break her : strongly groom'd and straitly 

curb'd 
She might not rank with those detestable 
That let the bantling scald at home, and brawl 
Their rights or w^rongs like potherbs in the street. 
They say she's comely ; there's the fairer chance : 
/ like her none the less for rating at her ! 
Besides, the woman wed is not as we. 
But suffers change of frame. A lusty brace 
Of twins may weed her of her folly. Boy, 
The bearing and the training of a child 



A Medley. 105 

Is woman's wisdom." 

Thus the hard old king : 
I took my leave, for it was nearly noon : 
I pored upon her letter which I held, 
And on the little clause "take not his life :" 
I mused on that wild morning in the woods. 
And on the "Follow, follow, thou shalt win :" 
I thought on all the wrathful king had said. 
And how the strange betrothment was to end : 
Then I remember' d that burnt sorcerer's curse 
That one should fight with shadow s and should 

fall ; 
And like a flash the weird affection came : 
King, camp and college turn'd to hollow shows ; 
I seem VI to move in old memorial tilts. 
And doing battle with forgotten ghosts. 
To dream myself the shadow of a dream : 
And ere I woke it was the point of noon. 
The lists were ready. Empanoplied and plumed 
We entered in, and waited, fifty there 
Opposed to fifty, till the trumpet blared 
At the barrier like a wild horn in a land 
Of echoes, and a moment, and once more 
The trumpet, and again : at which the storm 
Of galloping hoofs bare on the ridge of spears 
And riders front to front, until they closed 
In conflict with the crash of shivering points, 
And thunder. Yet it seem'd a dream, I dream'd 
Of fighting. On his haunches rose the steed, 
And into fiery splinters leapt the lance, 
And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire. 
Part sat like rocks : part reel'd but kept their seats : 



io6 The Princess ; 

Part roll'd on the earth and rose again and drew : 

Part stumbled mixt with floundering horses. Down 

From those two bulks at Arac's side, and down 

From Arac's arm, as from a giant's flail. 

The large blows rain'd, as here and everywhere 

He rode the mellay, lord of the ringing lists, 

And all the plain, — brand, mace, and shaft, and 

shield — 
Shock'd, like an iron-clanging anvil bang'd 
With hammsrs ; till I thought, can this be he 
From Gama's dwarfish loins? if this be so, 
The mother makes us most — and in my dream 
I glanced aside, and saw the palace-front 
Alive with fluttering scarfs and ladies' eyes, 
And highest- among the statues, statuelike. 
Between a cymbal' d Miriam and a Jael, 
With Psyche's babe, was Ida watching us, 
A single band of gold about her hair, 
Ivike a Saint's glory up in heaven : but she 
No saint — inexorable — no tenderness — 
Too hard, too cruel : yet she sees me fight. 
Yea, let her see me fall ! with that I drave 
Among the thickest and bore down a Prince, 
And Cyril, one. Yea, let me make my dream 
All that I would. But that large-moulded man. 
His visage all agrin as at a wake. 
Made at me thro' the press, and, staggering back 
With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, 

came 
As comes a pillar of electric cloud, 
Flaying the roofs and sucking up the drains, 
And shadowing down the champaign till it strikes 



A Medley. 107 

On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and 

splits, 
And twists the grain with such a roar that Earth 
Reels, and the herdsmen cry ; for everything 
Gave way before him : only Florian, he 
That loved me closer than his own right eye. 
Thrust in between ; but Arac rode him down : 
And Cyril, seeing it, push'd against the Prince, 
With Psyche's colour round his helmet, tough, 
Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms ; 
But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote 
And threw him : last I spurr'd ; I felt my veins 
Stretch with fierce heat : a moment hand to hand. 
And sword to sword, and horse to horse we hung, 
Till I struck out and shouted ; the blade glanced, 
I did but shear a feather, and dream and truth 
Flow'd from me ; darkness closed me ; and I fell. 




Home they brought her warrior dead : 
She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry : 

All her maidens, watching, said, 
*' She must weep or she will die." 

Then they praised him, soft and low, 
Call'd him worthy to be loved, 

Truest friend and noblest foe ; 

Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 

Stole a maiden from her place, 
Lightly to the warrior stept. 

Took the face-cloth from the face ; 
Yet she neither moved nor wept. 

Rose a nurse of ninety years, 
Set his child upon her knee — 

Like summer tempest came her tears — 
" Sweet my child, I live for thee." 




The Princess; A Medley. 109 ! 

1 



PART VI. 

My dream had never died or lived again. 
As in some mystic middle state I lay ; 
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard : 
Tho', if I saw not, yet they told me all 
So often that I speak as having seen. 

For so it seem'd, or so they said to me, 
That all things grew more tragic and more strange ; 
That when our side was vanquish' d and my cause 
For ever lost, there went up a great cry. 
The Prince is slain. My father heard and ran 
In on the lists, and there unlaced my casque 
And grovell'd on my body, and after him 
Came Psyche, sorrowing for Agla'ia. 

But high upon the palace Ida stood 
With Psyche's babe in arm : there on the roofs 
Like that great dame of Lapidoth she sang. 

" Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n : the seed, 
The little seed they laugh' d at in the dark, 
Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk 
Of spanless girth, that lays on every side 
A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun. 



no The Princess ; 

" Our enemies have faU'n, have fall'n : they came ; 
The leaves were wet with women's tears : they heard 
A noise of songs they would not understand : 
They mark'd it with the red cross to the fall, 
And would have strown it, and are fall'n themselves. 

" Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n : they came, 
The woodmen with their axes : lo the tree ! 
But we will make it faggots for the hearth, 
And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor, 
And boats and bridges for the use of men. 

" Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: they struck; 
With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew 
There dwelt an iron nature in the grain : 
The glittering axe was broken in their arms. 
Their arms were shatter'd to the shoulder blade. 

" Our enemies have fall'n, but this shall grow 
A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth 
Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power: and roll'd 
With music in the growing breeze of Time, 
The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs 
Shall move the stony bases of the world. 

"And now, O maids, behold our sanctuary 
Is violate, our laws broken : fear we not 
To break them more in their behoof, whose arms 
Champion'd our cause and won it with a day 
Blanch'd in our annals, and perpetual feast, 
When dames and heroines of the golden year 
Shall strip a hundred hollows bare of Spring, 
To rain an April of ovation round 



A Medley. iii 

Their statues, borne aloft, the three : but come, 

We will be liberal, since our rights are won. 

Let them not lie in the tents with coarse mankind) 

111 nurses ; but descend, and proffer these 

The brethren of our blood and cause, that there 

Lie bruised and maim'd, the tender ministries 

Of female hands and hospitality.'" 

She spoke, and with the babe yet in her arms, 
Descending, burst the great bronze valves, and led 
A hundred maids in train across the Park. 
Some cowl'd, and some bare headed, on they came, 
Their feet in flowers, her loveliest : by them went 
The enamour' d air sighing, and on their curls 
From the high tree the blossom wavering fell. 
And over them the tremulous isles of light • 
Slided, they moving under shade : but Blanche 
At distance follow' d : so they came : anon 
Thro' open field into the lists they wound 
Timorously ; and as the leader of the herd 
That holds a stately fretwork to the Sun, 
And follow'd up by a hundred airy does, 
Steps with a tender foot, light as on air, 
The lovely, lordly creature floated on 
To where her wounded brethren lay ; there stay'd ; 
Knelt on one knee, — the child on one, — and prest 
Their hands, and call'd them dear deliverers. 
And happy warriors, and immortal names, 
And said ''You shall not lie in the tents but here, 
And nursed by those for whom you fought, and 

served 
With female hands and hospitality." 



^^^ The Princess ; A Medley. 

Then, whither moved by this, or was it chance, 
She past my way. Up started from my side 
The old lion, glaring with his whelpless eye, 
Silent ; but when she saw me lying stark, 
Dishelm'd and mute, and motionlessly pale. 
Cold ev'n to her, she sigh'd ; and when she saw 
The haggard father's face and reverend beard 
As grisly twine, all dabbled with the blood 
Of his own son, shudder' d a twitch of pain, 
Tortured her mouth, and o'er her forehead past 
A shadow, and her hue changed, and she said : 
" He saved my life : my brother slew him for it." 
No more : at which the king in bitter scorn 
Drew from my neck the painting and the tress 
And held them up : she saw them, and a day 
Rose from the distance on her memory, 
When the good Queen, her mother, shore the tress 
With kisses, ere the days of Lady Blanche : 
And then once more she look' d at my pale face : 
Till understanding all the foolish work 
Of Fancy, and the bitter close of all, 
Her iron will was broken in her mind ; 
Her noble heart was molten in her breast ; 
She bow'd, she set the child on the earth ; she 

laid 
A feeling finger on my brows, and presently 
" O Sire, " she said, * ' he lives : he is not dead : 
O let me have him with m.y brethren here 
In our own palace : we will tend on him 
Like one of these ; if so, by any means. 
To lighten this great clog of thanks, that make 
Our progress falter to the woman's goal." 



114 The Princess ; A Medley. 



Slie said : but at the happy word * ' he lives" 
My father stoop'd, re-father'd o'er my wounds. 
So those two foes above my fallen life, 
With brow to brow like night and evening mixt 
Theii dark and gray, while Psyche ever stole 
A little nearer, till the babe that by us, 
Half-lapt in glowing gauze and golden brede, 
Lay like a new-fall'n meteor on the grass, 
Uncared for, spied its mother and began 
A blind and babbling laughter, and to dance 
Its body , and reach its fatling innocent arms 
And lazy lingering fingers. She the appeal 
Brook'd not, but clamouring out ' ' Mine — mine — 

not yours. 
It is not yours, but mine : give me the child" 
Ceased all on tremble : piteous was the cry : 
So stood the unhappy mother open-mouth'd, 
And turn'd each face her way : wan was her cheek 
With hollow watch, her blooming mantle torn. 
Red grief and mother's hunger in her eye. 
And down dead-heavy sank her curls, and half 
The sacred mother's bosom, panting, burst 
The laces toward her babe ; but she nor cared 
Noi knew it, clamouring on, till Ida heard, 
Look'd up, and rising slowly from me, stood 
Krect and silent, striking with her glance 
The mother, me, the child ; but he that lay 
Beside us, Cyril, batter' d as he was, 
Traird himself up on one knee : then he drew 
Her robe to meet his lips, and down she look'd 
At the arm'd man sideways, pitying as it seem'd, 
Or self involved ; but when she learnt his face, 




*' Down she look'd at the arm'd man sideways." 



i 
ii6 TAe Princess ; A Medley. \ 



Remembering his ill-omen'd song, arose 

Once more thro' all her height, and o'er him grew 

Tall as a figure lengthened on the sand 

When the tide ebbs in sunshine, and he said : 

" O fair and strong and terrible ! lyioness 
That with your long locks play the Ivion's mane ! 
But Love and Nature, these are two more terrible 
And stronger. See, your foot is on our necks 
We vanquish' d, you the Victor of your will. 
What would you more ? give her the child ! remain 
Orb"d in your isolation : he is dead, 
Or all as dead : henceforth we let you be : 
Win you the hearts of women ; and beware 
Lest, where you seek the common love of these, 
The common hate with the revolving wheel 
Should drag you down, and some great Nemesis 
Break from a darken' d future, crown'd with fire 
And tread you out forever : but howsoe'er 
Fix'd in yourself, never in your own arms 
To hold your own, deny not hers to her, 
Give her the child ! O if, I say, you keep 
One pulse that beats true woman, if you loved 
The breast that fed or arm that dandled you, 
Or own one port of sense not flint to prayer, 
Give her the child ! or if you scorn to lay it, 
Yourself, in hands so lately claspt with yours, 
Or speak to her, your dearest, her one fault 
The tenderness, not yours, that could not kill, 
Give me it : /will give it her." 

He said : 
At first her eye with slow dilation roll'd 




Wk two must part." 



ii8 The Princess ; 

Dry flame, she listening ; after sank and sank 
And, into mournful twilight mellowing, dwelt 
Full on the child ; she took it : " Pretty bud ! 
Lily of the vale ! half-open'd bell of the wooas ! 
Sole comfort of my dark hour, when a world 
Of traitorous friend and broken system made 
No purple in the distance, mystery. 
Pledge of a love not to be mine, farewell ; 
These men are hard upon us as of old, 
We two must part : and yet how fain was I 
To dream thy cause embraced in mine, to think 
I might be something to thee, when I felt 
Thy helpless warmth about my barren breast 
In the dead prime : but may thy mother prove 
As true to thee as false, false, false to me ! 
And, if thou needs must bear the yoke, I wish it 
Gentle as freedom" — here she kiss'd it : then — 
"All good go with thee ! take it. Sir," and so 
Laid the soft babe in his hard-mailed hands, 
Who turn'd half-round to Psyche as she sprang 
To meet it, with an eye that swum in thanks ; 
Then felt it sound and whole from head to foot, 
And hugg'd and never hugg'd it close enough, 
And in her hunger mouth'd and mumbled it, 
And hid her bosom with it ; after that 
Put on more calm and added suppliantly : 

' ' We two were friends : I go to mine own land 
For ever : find some other : as for me 
I scarce am fit for your great plans : yet speak to 

me, 
Say one soft word and let me part forgiven." 



A Medley, 119 

But Ida spoke not, rapt upon the child. 
Then Arac. " Ida — 'sdeath ! you blame the man ; 
You wrong yourselves — the woman is so hard 
Upon the woman. Come, a grace to me ! 
I am your warrior : I and mine have fought 
Your battle : kiss her ; take her hand, she weeps : 
'Sdeath ! I wouldsooner fightthrice o'er than see it." 

But Ida spoke not, gazing on the ground, 
And reddening in the furrows of his chin, 
And moved beyond his custom, Gama said : 

*' I've heard that there is iron in the blood, 
And I believe it. Not one word ? not one ? 
Whence drew you this steel temper ? not from me. 
Not from your mother, now a saint with saints. 
She said you had a heart — I heard her say it — 

* Our Ida has a heart ^ — just ere she died — 

* But see that some one with authority 

Be near her still' and I — I sought for one — 
All people said she had authority — 
The Lady Blanche : much profit ! not one word ; 
No ! tho' your father sues : see how you stand 
Stiff as Lot's wife, and all the good knights maim'd, 
I trust that there is no one hurt to death. 
For your wild whim : and was it then for this. 
Was it for this we gave our palace up. 
Where we withdrew from summer heats and state. 
And had our wine and chess beneath the planes. 
And many a pleasant hour with her that's gone. 
Ere you were born to vex us ? Is it kind ? 
Speak to her I say : is this not she of whom. 
When first she came, all flush' d you said to me 



I20 



The Princess ; 




Now had you got a friend of your own age, 

Now could you share your thought ; now should 

men see 
Two women faster welded in one love 

Than pairs of wedlock; 

she you walk'd with, 

she 
You talk'd with, whole 

nights long, up in the 

tower. 
Of sine and arc, spheroid 

and azimuth. 
And right ascension. 

Heaven knows what; 

and now 
A word, but one, one 

little kindly word. 
Not one to spare her : out 

upon you, flint ! 
You love nor her, nor 

me, nor any ; nay, 
You shame your mother's 

judgment too. Not 

one? 
You will not? well — no 

heart have you, or 

such 
As fancies like the ver- 
min in a nut 
Have fretted all to dust 

and bitterness." 
So said the small king moved beyond his wont. 




" She you talk'd with, whole 
nights long, up in the tower." 



A Medley. 121 

But Ida stood nor spoke, drain'd of her force 
By many a varying influence and so long. 
Down thro' her hmbs a drooping languor wept : 
Her head a little bent ; and on her mouth 
A doubtful smile dwelt like a clouded moon 
In a still water : then brake out my sire, 
Lifting his grim head from my wounds. " O you, 
Woman, whom we thought woman even now, 
And were half fool'd to let you tend our son. 
Because he might have wish'd it — but we see 
The accomplice of your madness unforgiven. 
And think that you might mix his draught with 

death, 
When your skies change again : the rougher hand 
Is safer : on to the tents : take up the Prince." 

He rose, and while each ear was prick'd to attend 
A tempest, thro' the cloud that dimm'd her broke 
A genial warmth and light once more, and shone 
Thro' glittering drops on her sad friend. 

' * Come hither. 

Psj'che," she cried out, "embrace me, come. 
Quick while I melt ; make reconcilement sure 
With one that cannot keep her mind an hour : 
Come to the hollow heart they slander so ! 
Kiss and be friends, like children being chid ! 
/seem no more : /want forgiveness too : 

1 should have had to do with none but maids, 
That have no links with men. Ah false but dear. 
Dear traitor, too much loved, why ? — why ? — Yet 

see, 
Before these kings we embrace you yet once more 



122 The Princess ; 

With all forgiveness, all oblivion, 
And trust, not love, you less. 

And now, O sire, 
Grant me your son, to nurse, to wait upon him, 
Like mine own brother. For my debt to him. 
This nightmare weight of gratitude, I know it ; 
Taunt me no more : yourself and yours shall have 
Free adit ; we will scatter all our maids 
Till happier times each to her proper hearth : 
What use to keep them here — now? grant my 

prayer. 
Help, father, brother, help ; speak to the king : 
Thaw this male nature to some touch of that 
Which kills me with myself, and drags me down 
From my fixt height to mob me up with all 
The soft and milky rabble of womankind, 
Poor weakling ev'n as they are." 

Passionate tears 
Follow'd : the king replied not : Cyril said : 
*'Your brother, Lady, — Florian, — ask for him 
Of your great head — for he is wounded too — 
That you may tend upon him with the prince." 
' ' Ay so, ' ' said Ida with a bitter smile, 
" Our laws are broken ; let him enter too." 
Then Violet, she that sang the mournful song, 
And had a cousin tumbled on the plain, 
Petition'd too for him. " Ay so,-' she said, 
' ' I stagger in the stream : I cannot keep 
My heart an eddy from the brawling hour : 
We break our laws with ease, but let it be." 
*' Ay so ? " said Blanche : ' ' Amazed am I to hear 
Your Highness: but your Highness breaks with ease 



A Medley. 123 

The law your Highness did not make : ' twas I. 
I had been wedded wife, I knew mankind, 
And block' d them out ; but these men came to woo 
Your Highness — verily I think to win." 

So she, and turn'd askance a wintry eye : 
But Ida with a voice, that like a bell 
Toll'd by an earthquake in a trembling tower, 
Rang ruin, answer'd full of grief and scorn. 

** Fling our doors wide ! all, all, not one, but all, 
Not only he, but by my mother's soul, 
Whatever man lies wounded, friend or foe, 
Shall enter, if he will. Let our girls flit. 
Till the storm die ! but had you stood by us, 
The roar that breaks the Pharos from his base 
Had left us rock. She fain would sting us too, 
But shall not. Pass, and mingle with your likes= 
We brook no further insult but are gone." 

She turn'd; the very nape of her white neck 
Was rosed with indignation : but the Prince 
Her brother came ; the king her father charm' d 
Her wounded soul with words : nor did mine own 
Refuse her proffer, lastly gave his hand. 

Then as they lifted up, dead weights, and bare 
Straight to the doors : to them the doors gave way 
Groaning, and in the Vestal entry shriek' d 
The virgin marble under iron heels : 
And on they moved and gain'd the hall, and there 
Rested ; but great the crush was, and each base, 



124 ^he Princess ; A Medley. 

To left and right, of those tall columns drown'd 
In silken fluctuation and the swarm 
Of female whisperers : at the further end 
Was Ida by the throne, the two great cats 
Close by her, like supporters on a shield. 
Bow-back' d with fear : but in the centre stood 
The common men with rolling eyes ; amazed 
They glared upon the women, and aghast 
The women stared at these, all silent, save 
When armour clash'd or jingled, while the day, 
Descending, struck athwart the hall, and shot 
A flying splendour out of brass and steel 
That o'er the statues leapt from head to head, 
Now fired an angry Pallas on the helm, 
Now set a wrathful Dian's moon on flame, 
And now and then an echo started up. 
And shudder fled from room to room, and died 
Of fright in far apartments. 

Then the voice 
Of Ida sounded, issuing ordinance : 
And me they bore up the broad stairs, and thro' 
The long-laid galleries past a hundred doors 
To one deep chamber shut from sound, and due 
To languid limbs and sickness ; left me in it ; 
And others otherwhere they laid ; and all 
That afternoon a sound arose of hoof 
And chariot, many a maiden passing home 
Till happier times ; but some were left of those 
Held sagest, and the great lords out and in, 
From those two hosts that lay beside the walls, 
Walk'd at their will, and everything was changed. 





%*^-/' 



126 The Princess ; 



Ask me no more : the moon may draw the sea ; 
The cloud may stoop from Heaven and take the 

shape 
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape ; 
But O too fond, when have I answerM thee? 

Ask me no more. 

Ask me no more : what answer should I give? 
I love not hollow cheek or faded eye : 
Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die ! 

Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live ; 

Ask me no more. 

Ask me no more : thy fate and mine are seal'd : 
I strove against the stream and all in vain : 
Let the great river take me to the main : 

No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield ; 

Ask me no more. 



A Medley. 127 



PART VII. 

So was their sanctuary violated, 

So their fair college turii'd to hospital ; 

At first with all confusion : by and by 

Sweet order lived again with other laws : 

A kindlier influence reign'd ; and everywhere 

lyow voices with a ministering hand 

Hung round the sick : the maidens came, they 

talk'd. 
They sang, they read : till she not fair began 
To gather light, and she that was, became 
Her former beauty treble ; and to and fro 
With books, with flowers, with Angel offices, 
I/ike creatures native unto gracious act, 
And in their own clear element, they moved. 

But sadness on the soul of Ida fell, 
And hatred of her weakness, blent with shame 
Old studies fail'd ; seldom she spoke : but oft 
Clomb to the roofs, and gazed alone for hours 
On that disastrous leaguer, swarms of men 
Darkening her female field : void was her use. 
And she as one that climbs a peak to gaze 
O'er land and main, and sees a great black cloud 
Drag inward from the deeps, a wall of night, 
Blot out the slope of sea from verge to shore. 
And suck the blinding splendour from the sand, 



128 



The frincess ; 



And quenching 
lake by lake and 
tarn by tarn 

Expunge the world : 
so fared she gaz- 
ing there ; 

So blacken 'd all her 
world in secret, 
blank 

And waste it seeni'd 
and vain; till 
down she came, 

And found fair 
peace once more 
among the sick. 

And twilight 
dawn'd ; and morn 
by morn the lark 
Shot up and shrill'd 
in flickering 
gyres, but I 
Ivay silent in the 
mufiled cage of 
life: 
And twilight gloom'd ; and broader-grown the 

bowers 
Drew the great night into themselves, and Heaven, 
Star after star, arose and fell ; but I, 
Deeper than these weird doubts could reach me, lay 
Quite sunder' d from the moving Universe, 
Nor knew what eye was on me, nor the hand 




'OFT CLOMB TO THE ROOFS, AND GAZED 
ALONE FOR HOURS." 



A Medley. 



129 



That nursed me, 
more than infants 
in their sleep. 

But Psyche tend- 
ed Blorian : with 

her oft, 
Melissa came ; for 

Blanch e had 

gone, but left 
Her child among 

us, willing she 

should keep 
Court-favour: here 

and there the 

small brighthead, 
A light of healing, 

glanced about 

the couch. 
Or thro' the parted 

silks the tender 

face 
Peep'd, shining in 

upon the wound- 
ed man 
With blush and 

smile, a medicine 

in themselves 
To wile the length from languorous hours, and draw 
The sting from pain ; nor seem'd it strange that soon 
He rose up whole, and those fair charities 
Join'd at her side ; nor stranger seem'd that hearts 




thro' TJIE PARTiiD SILKS.' 



130 T?ie Princess ; 

So gentle, so employ"'d, should close in love, 
Than when two dewdrops on the petal shake 
To the same sweet air, and tremble deeper down, 
And slip at once all-fragrant into one. 

I^ess prosperously the second suit obtain'd 
At first with Psyche. Not tho' Blanche had sworn 
That after that dark night among the fields 
She needs must wed him for her own good name ; 
Not tho' he built upon the babe restored ; 
Nor tho' she liked him, yielded she, but fear'd 
To incense the Head once more ; till on a day 
When Cyril pleaded, Ida came behind 
Seen but of Psyche : on her foot she hung 
A moment, and she heard, at which her face 
A little flush' d, and she past on ; but each 
Assumed from thence a half-consent involved 
In stillness, plighted troth, and were at peace. 

Nor only these : Love in the sacred halls 
Held carnival at will, and flying struck 
With showers of random sweet on maid and man. 
Nor did her father cease to press my claim. 
Nor did mine own now reconciled ; nor yet 
Did those twin-brothers, risen again and whole ; 
Nor Arac, satiate with his victory. 

But I lay still, and with me oft she sat : 
Then came a change ; for sometimes I would catch 
Her hand in wild delirium, gripe it hard, 
And fling it like a viper off, and shriek 
** You are not Ida ; " clasp it once again. 



A Medley, 131 

And call her Ida, tho' I knew her not, 

And call her sweet, as if in irony. 

And call her hard and cold which seem'd a truth : 

And still she fear'd that I should lose my mind, 

And often she believed that I should die : 

Till out of long frustration of her care, 

And pensive tendance in the all-weary noons, 

And watches in the dead, the dark, when clocks 

Throbbed thunder thro' the palace floors, or call'd 

On flying Time from all their silver tongues — 

And out of memories of her kindlier days. 

And sidelong glances at my father's grief. 

And at the happy lovers heart in heart — 

And out of hauntings of my spoken love. 

And lonely listenings to my mutter'd dream. 

And often feeling of the helpless hands. 

And wordless broodings on the wasted cheek — 

From all a closer interest flourish'd up. 

Tenderness touch by touch, and last, to these, 

l/ove, like an 'Alpine harebell hung with tears 

By some cold morning glacier ; frail at first 

And feeble, all unconscious of itself. 

But such as gather'd colour day by day. 

Last I woke sane, but well-nigh close to death 
For weakness : it was evening : silent light 
"Slept on the painted walls, wherein were wrought 
Two grand designs ; for on one side arose 
The women up in wild revolt, and stormed 
At the Oppian law. Titanic shapes, they cramm'd 
The forum, and half-crush'd among the rest 
A dwarf-like Cato cower'd. On the other side 



132 The Princess ; 

Hortensia spoke against the tax ; behind, 

A train of dames : by axe and eagle sat, 

With all their foreheads drawn in Roman scowls, 

And half the wolf's-milk curdled in their veins, 

The fierce triumvirs ; and before them paused 

Hortensia pleading : angry was her face. 

I saw the forms : I knew not where I was : 
They did but look like hollow shows ; nor more 
Sweet Ida : palm to palm she sat : the dew 
Dwelt in her eyes, and softer all her shape 
And rounder seem''d : I moved : I sigh'd : a touch 
Came round my wrist, and tears upon my hand : 
Then all for languor and self-pity ran 
Mine down my face, and with what life I had, 
And like a flower that cannot all unfold. 
So drench'd it is with tempest, to the sun, 
Yet, as it ma}^ turns toward him, I on her 
Fixed my faint eyes, and utter'd whisperingly : 

" If you be, what I think you, some sweet dream, 
I would but ask you to fulfil yourself : 
But if you be that Ida whom I knew, 
I ask you nothing : only, if a dream, 
Sweet dream, be perfect. I shall die to-night. 
Stoop down and seem to kiss me ere I die."" 

I could no more, but lay like one in trance. 
That hears his burial talk'd of by his friends. 
And cannot speak, nor move, nor make one sign, 
But lies and dreads his doom. She turn'd ; she 
paused ; 



A Medley. 



^ZZ 



She stoop'd ; and out of languor leapt a cry ; 
I^eapt fiery Passion from the brinks of death ; 
And I believed that in the living world 
My spirit closed with Ida's at the lips ; 




v% .> -.-^ ^' -^ 



■ MY SPIRIT CLOSED WITH IDA'S AT THE LIPS. 



Till back I fell, and from mine arms she rose 
Glowing all over noble shame ; and all 
Her falser self slipt from her like a robe, 
And left her woman, lovelier in her mood 
Than in her mould that other, when she came 
From barren deeps to conquer all with love ; 
And down the streaming crystal dropt ; and she 
Far-fleeted by the purple island-sides, 
Naked, a double light in air and wave, 
To meet her Graces, where they deck' d her out 
For worship without end ; nor end of mine, 
Stateliest, for thee ! but mute she glided forth. 
Nor glanced behind her, and I sank and slept, 
Fill'd thro' and thro" with Love, a happy sleep. 



134 The Princess ; \ 

Deep in the night I woke : she, near me, held ] 

A volume of the Poets of her land : i 

There to herself, all in low tones, she read. < 

\ 

" Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white ; = 

Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk ; '\ 

Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font : \ 
The fire-fly wakens : waken thou with me. 

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, 
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. 

Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, 
And all thy heart lies open unto me. 

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves ' 

A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. 

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up ■ j 

And slips into the bosom of the lake : \ 

So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip j 

Into my bosom and be lost in me." \ 

I heard her turn the page ; she found a small I 

Sweet Idyl, and once more, as low, she read : \ 

\ 
" Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain \ 

height : I 

What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) : 

In height and cold, the splendour of the hills ? 

But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease | 

To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, \ 



J 



A Medley. 135 

i 
^ I 

i 

To sit a star upon the sparkling spire ;. 

And come, for Love is of the valley, come, 

For Love is of the valley, come thou down 

And find him ; by the happy threshold, he, j 

Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, 1 

Or red with spirted purple of the vats, ; 

Or foxlike in the vine ; nor cares to walk | 

With Death and Morning on the silver horns, i 

Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, i 

Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, ] 

That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls \ 

To roll the torrent out of dusky doors : 1 

But follow ; let the torrent dance thee down ; 

To find him in the valley ; let the wild ' 

Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave ■ 

The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill ■ 

Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. 

That like a broken purpose waste in air : 

So waste not thou ; but come ; for all the vales ! 

Await thee ; azure pillars of the hearth \ 

Arise to thee ; the children call, and I j 

Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, ] 

Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet ; j 

Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, \ 

The moan of doves in immemorial elms, 1 

And murmuring of innumerable bees." \ 

So she low-toned ; while with shut eyes I lay ■ : 

Listening ; then look'd. Pale was the perfect face ; ; 

The bosom with long sighs laboured ; and meek \ 

Seem'd the full lips, and mild the luminous eyes, i 

And the voice trembled and the hand. She said ■ i 



1»% 




'I THY SHEPHERD PIPE." 



The Princess ; A Medley. 137 "\ 

^__^ I 

Brokenly, that she knew it, she had faiPd "■ 

In sweet humility ; had fail'd in all ; | 

That all her labour was but as a block . I 

Left in the quarry ; but she still were loth, ; 

She still were loth to yield herself to one 

That wholly scorn'd to help their equal rights - i 

Against the sons of men, and barbarous lav»s. \ 

She pray'd me not to judge their cause from her • ! 

That wrong'd it, sought far less for truth than ' 

power j 

In knowledge : something wild within her breast, ■ 

A greater than all knowledge, beat her dov/n. 
And she had nursed me there from week to week ; 
Much had she learned in little time. In part 

It was ill counsel had misled the girl : 

To vex true hearts : yet was she but a girl — 1 

"Ah fool, and made myself a Queen of farce ! - ' 

When comes another such ? never, I think, ; 

Till the Sun drop, dead, from the signs." 

Her voice \ 

Choked, and her forehead sank upon her hands, \ 

And her great heart thro' all the faultful Past I 

Went sorrowing in a pause I dared not break ; ■ 

Till notice of a change in the dark world .1 

Was lispt about the acacias, and a bird, • 

That early woke to feed her little ones, . 

Sent from a dewy breast a cry for light : | 

She moved, and at her feet the volume fell. 1 

] 
*' Blame not thyself too much," I said, "nor 
blame 
Too much the sons of men and barbarous laws ; 



138 



The Princess ; 



These were the rough ways 

of the world till now. 
Henceforth thou hast a help- 
er, me that know 
The woman's cause is man's : 

they rise or sink 
Together, dwarf d or godlike, 

bond or free : 
For she that out of Lethe 

scales with man 
The shining steps of Nature, 

shares with man 
His nights, his days, moves 

with him to one goal, 
Stays all the fair young 

planet in her hands — 
If she be small, slight-natur- 

ed, miserable. 
How shall men grow? but 

work no more alone ! 
Our place is much : as far as 

in us lies 
We two will serve them both 
in aiding her — 
Will clear away the parasitic forms 
That seem to keep her up but drag her down — 
Will leave her space to burgeon out of all 
Within her — let her make herself her own 
To give or keep, to live and learn and be 
All that not harms distinctive womanhood. 
For woman is not undevelopt man. 
But diverse : could we make her as the man. 




" SHE MOVED, AND AT HER 
FEET THE VOLUME FELL." 



A Medley. 139 1 

Sweet l/ove were slain : his dearest bond is this, ■ 

Not like to like, but like in difference. ,j 

Yet in the long years liker must they grow ; j 

The man be more of woman, she of man ; j 

He gain in sweetness and in moral height, ] 

Nor lose the wrevStling thews that throw the world ; | 

She mental breath, nor fail in childward care, - I 

Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; ■ 

Till at the last she set herself to man, 

1 
Like perfect music unto noble words ; 

And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, 

Sit side by side, full-summ'd in all their powers, * 

Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, \ 

Self-reverent each and reverencing each, .1 

Distinct in individualities, j 

But like each other ev'n as those who love. I 

Then comes the statelier Bden back to men : j 

Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm : \ 

Then springs the crowning race of humankind. \ 

May these things be ! " \ 

Sighing she spoke, " I fear \ 

They will not." , 

* * Dear, but let us type them now •; 

In our own lives, and this proud watchword rest j 

Of equal ; seeing either sex alone ; 

Is half itself, and in true marriage lies 1 

Nor equal, nor unequal : each fulfils \ 

Defect in each, and always thought in thought, i 

Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grow, j 

The single pure and perfect animal, _■ 

The two-cell'd heart beating, with one full stroke, 1 

Lifb." ; 



140 The Princess ; 

And again sighing she spoke : "A dream 
That once was mine ! what woman taught you 
this?" 

" Alone," I said, "from earlier than I know, 
Immersed in rich foreshadowings of the world, 
I loved the woman : he, that doth not, lives 
A drowning life, besotted in sweet self, 
Or pines in sad experience worse than death. 
Or keeps his wing'd affections clipped with crime : 
Yet was there one thro' whom I loved her, one 
Not learned, save in gracious household ways. 
Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants, 
No Angel, but a dearer being, all dipt 
In Angel instincts, breathing Paradise, 
Interpreter between the Gods and men. 
Who look'd all native to her place, and yet 
On tiptoe seem'd to touch upon a sphere 
Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce 
Sway'd to her from their orbits as they moved. 
And girdled her with music. Happy he 
With such a mother ! faith in womankind 
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high 
Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall 
He shall not blind his soul with clay."' 

"But I," 
Said Ida, tremulously, * ' so all unlike — 
It seems you love to cheat yourself with words : 
This mother is your model. I have heard 
Of your strange doubts : they well might be : I seem 
A mockery to my own self. Never, Prince ; 
You cannot love me." 



A Medley. 141 

** Nay but thee " I said 
* * x^rom yearlong poring on thy pictured eyes, 
Bre seen T loved, and loved thee seen, and saw 
The woman thro^ the crust of iron moods 
That mask'd thee from men's reverence up, and 

forced 
Sweet love on pranks of saucy boyhood : now, 
Giv'n back to life, to life indeed, thro' thee, 
Indeed I love : the new day comes, the light 
Dearer for night, as dearer thou for faults 
Lived over : lift thine eyes ; my doubts are dead, 
My haunting sense of hollow shows : the change, 
This truthful change in thee has kill'd it. Dear, 
Look up, and let thy nature strike on mine, 
Like yonder morning on the blind half- world ; 
Approach and fear not ; breathe upon my brows ; 
In that fine air I tremble, all the past 
Melts mist-like into this bright hour, and this 
Is morn to more, and all the rich to-come 
Reels, as the golden Autumn woodland reels 
Athwart the smoke of burning weeds. Forgive me, 
I waste my heart in signs : let be. My bride, 
My wife, my life. O we will walk this world. 
Yoked in all exercise of noble end. 
And so thro' those dark gates across the wild 
That no man knows. Indeed I love thee : come, 
Yield thyself up : my hopes and thine are one : 
Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; 
Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me." 



The Princess ; A Medley. 143 



CONCLUSION. 

So closed our tale, of which I give you all 

The random scheme as wildly as it rose : 

The words are mostly mine ; for when we ceased 

There cam.e a minute's pause, and Walter said, 

** I wish she had not yielded ! " then to me, 

" What, if you drest it up poetically ! " 

So pray'd the m.en, the women : I gave assent : 

Yet how to bind the scatter'd scheme of seven 

Together in one sheaf? What style could suit? 

The men required that I should give throughout 

The sort of mock-heroic gigantesque, 

With which we banter'd little lyilia first : 

The women — and perhaps they felt their power^, 

For something in the ballads which they sang. 

Or in their silent influence as they sat, 

Had ever seem'd to wrestle with burlesque, 

And drove us, last, to quite a solemn close — 

They hated banter, wish'd for something real, 

A gallant fight, a noble princess — why 

Not make her true-heroic — true-sublime ? 

Or all, they said, as earnest as the close ? 

Which yet with such a framework scarce could be. 

Then rose a little feud betwixt the two. 

Betwixt the mockers and the realists : 

And I, betwixt them both, to please them both, 

And yet to give the story as it rose. 



144 



The Princess ; 



I moved as in a strange diagonal, 

And maybe neither pleased myself nor them. 

But Ivilia pleased me, for she took no part 
In our dispute : the sequel of the tale 
Had touched her ; and she sat, she plucked the grass, 
She flung it from her, thinking : last, she fixt 
A showery glance upon her aunt, and said, 
"You — tell us what we are " who might have told 
For she was cramm'd with theories out of books. 
But that there rose a shout : the gates were closed 
At sunset, and the crowd were swarming now, 
To take their leave, about the garden rails. 




'THE GATES WERE CLOSED AT SUNSET, 



A Medley. 145 

So I and some went out to these : we climb 'd 
The slope to Vivian-place, and turning saw 
The happy valleys, half in light, and half 
Far-shadowing from the west, a land of peace ; 
Gray halls alone among their massive groves ; 
Trim hamlets ; here and there a rustic tower 
Half-lost in belts of hop and breadths of wheat ; 
The shimmering glimpses of a stream ; the seas ; 
A red sail, or a white ; and far beyond. 
Imagined more than seen, the skirts of France. 

" Ivook there, a garden ! " said my college friend, 
The Tory member's elder son, ' * and there ! 
God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off. 
And keeps our Britain, whole within herself, 
A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled — 
Some sense of duty, something of a faith. 
Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made, 
Some patient force to change them when we will, 
Some civic manhood firm against the crowd — 
But yonder, whiff ! there comes a sudden heat. 
The gravest citizen seems to lose his head, 
The king is scared, the soldier will not fight, 
The little boj'S begin to shoot and stab, 
A kingdom topples over with a shriek 
Ivike an old woman, and down rolls the world 
In mock heroics stranger than our own ; 
Revolts, republics, revolutions, most 
No graver than a schoolboys' barring out ; 
Too comic for the solemn things they are. 
Too solemn for the comic touches in them, 
Like our wild Princess with as wise a dream 



146 The Princess; 

As some of theirs — God bless the narrow seas ! 
I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad." 

** Have patience," I replied, " ourselves are full 
Of social wrong ; and maybe wildest dreams 
Are but the needful preludes of the truth : 
For me, the genial day, the happy crowd, 
The sport half-science, fill me with a faith, 
This fine old world of ours is but a child 
Yet in the go-cart. Patience ! Give it time 
To learn its limbs : there is a hand that guides." 

In such discourse we gain'd the garden rails, 
And there we saw Sir Walter where he stood, 
Before a tower of crimson holly-oaks, 
Among six boys, head under head, and looked 
No little lily-handed Baronet he, 
A great broad shouldered genial Englishman, 
A lord of fat prize oxen and of sheep, 
A raiser of huge melons and of pine, 
A patron of some thirty charities, 
A pamphleteer on guano and on grain, 
A quarter-sessions chairman, abler none ; 
Fair-hair' d and redder than a windy morn ; 
Now shaking hands with him, now him, of those 
That stood the nearest — now addressed to speech — 
Who spoke few words and pithy, such as closed 
Welcome, farewell, and welcome for the year 
To follow : a shout arose again, and made 
The long line of the approaching rookery swerve 
From the elms, and shook the branches of the deer 
From slope to slope thro' distant ferns, and rang 



A Medley. 147 

Beyond the bourn of sunset ; O, a shout 

More joyful than the city-roar that hails 

Premier of king ! Why should not these great Sirs 

Give up their parks some dozen times a year 

To let the people breathe ? So thrice they cried, 

I likewise, and in groups they stream'd away. 

But we went back to the Abbey, and sat on, 
So much the gathering darkness charm'd ; we sat 
But spoke not, rapt in nameless reverie. 
Perchance upon the future man : the walls 
Blacken'd about us, bats wheeled, and owls whoop'd, 
And gradually the powers of the night. 
That range above the region of the wind, 
Deepening the courts of twilight broke them up 
Thro' all the silent spaces of the worlds. 
Beyond all thought into the Heaven of Heavens. 

I^ast little Ivilia, rising quietly. 
Disrobed the glimmering statue of Sir Ralph 
From those rich silks, and home well-pleased we 
went. 





ToTOF-OVHX '\ 




Revered^ beloved — O you that hold 

A nobler office upon earth 

Than arms, or power of brain, or birth 
Could give the wa^^rior kings of old, 

Victoria, — since your Royal grace 
To one of less desert allows 
This la^irel greener Jroni the brows 

Of him that utter'' d nothing base ; 



And should your greatness, and the care 
That yokes with empire, yield you tim.e 
To make demand of modern rhyme 

If aught of ancient worth be there ; 



150 To the Queen. 



Then — while a sweeter jnusic wakes, 
And thro* wild March the throstle calls. 
Where all about your palace-walls 
The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes — 

Take, Madam,, this poor book of song; 
For tho* the faults were as thick as dust 
In vacant chambers, I could trust 

Your kindness. May you rule as lo7ig. 

And leave us 7'ulers of your blood 

As noble till the latest day ! 

May children of our children say, 
' * She wrought her people lasting good; 

^^ Her court was pure ; her life serene ; 

God gave her peace ; her land reposed ; 

A thousand claims to reverence closed 
In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen ; 

' ' And statesm,en at her council inet 
Who knew the seasons when to take 
Occasion by the hand, and make 

The bounds of freedom, wider yet 

^^ By shaping som,e august decree. 

Which kept her throne unshaken still, 
Broad-based upon her people' s will. 

And compassed by the inviolate sea.''"' 

March, 1851, 




The soi.kmn oak-tree sigheth." 



(151) 



JUVENILIA. 

CLARIBEL. 

A MEI/ODY. 

I. 

Where Claribel low-lieth 
The breezes pause and die, 
Letting the rose-leaves fall : 
But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, 
Thick-leaved, ambrosial, 
With an ancient melody 
Of an inward agony. 
Where Claribel low-lieth. 



II. 

At eve the beetle boometh 
Athwart the thicket lone : 

At noon the wild bee hummeth 
About the moss'd headstone ; 

At midnight the moon cometh 
And looketh down alone. 

Her song the lintwhite swelleth, 

(152) 



Claribel. 153 



The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth, 
The callow throstle lispeth, 

The slumbrous wave outwelleth, 
The babbling runnel crispeth, 

The ho! low grot replieth 
Where Claribel low-lietho 



NOTHING WILIv DIB. 

Whkn will the stream be aweary of flowing 

Under my eye ? 
When will the wind be aweary of blowing 

Over the sky ? 
When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting ? 
When will the heart be aweary of beating? 

And nature die ? 
Never, oh ! never, nothing will die ; 

The stream flows, 

The wind blows, 

The cloud fleets, 

The heart beats, 
Nothing will die. 

Nothing will die ; 
All things will change 
Thro' eternity. 
'Tis the world's winter ; 
Autumn and summer 
Are gone long ago ; 
Earth is dry to the centre, 
But spring, a new comer, 
A spring rich and strange. 
Shall make the winds blow 

(154) 



Nothing Will Die. 155 

Round aud round, 
Thro' and thro', 

Here and there, 
. Till the air 
And the ground 
Shall be fill'd with life anew. 




"So LET THE WIND RANGE." 

The world was never made ; 
It will change, but it will not fade. 
■So let the wind range ; 
For even and morn 

Ever will be 

Thro' eternity. 
Nothing was born ; 
Nothing will die ; 
All things will change. 




"The blue river chimes in its flowing." 

AIvI, THINGS WIIvIv DIB. 

Clkarly the blue river chimes in its flowing 

Under my eye ; 
Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing 

Over the sky. 
One after another the white clouds are fleeting ; 
Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating 
Full merrily ; 
Yet all things must die. 
The stream will cease to flow ; 
The wind will cease to blow ; 
The clouds will cease to fleet; 
The heart will cease to beat ; 
For all things must die. 
All things must die. 
Spring will come never more. 

Oh ! vanity ! 
Death waits at the door. 

(156) 



All Things Will Die. 157 i 

i 

See ! our friends are all forsaking 1 
The wine and the merrymaking. 

We are call'd- — we must go. ^ 

Laid low, very low, j 

In the dark we must lie. | 

The merry glees are still ; | 

The voice of the bird ] 

Shall no more be heard, ' 
Nor the wind on the hill. 

Oh ! misery ! 
Hark ! death is calling 
While I speak to ye, 
The jaw is falling. 

The red cheek paling, i 

The strong limbs failing ; 1 

Ice with the warm blood mixing ; \ 

The eyeballs fixing. i 
Nine times goes the passing bell : 

Ye merry souls, farewell. t 

The old earth ■ 

Had a birth, J 

As all men know, '\ 

Long ago. j 

And the old eairth must die. | 

So let the warm winds range, j 

And the blue wave beat the shore ; ! 

For even and morn ; 

Ye will never see 1 

Thro' eternity. \ 

All things were born. i 

Ye will come never more. 

For all things must die. ; 



IvBONINE) BlvEGIACS. 

IvOW-Fi,owiNG breezes are roaming the broad valley 
dimm'd in the gloaming : 

Thro' the black-stemm'd pines only the far river 
shines. 

Creeping thro' blossomy rushes and bowers of rose- 
blowing bushes, 

Down by the poplar tall rivulets babble and fall. 

Barketh the shepherd-dog cheerily ; the grasshop- 
per carolleth clearly ; 

Deeply the wood-dove coos ; shrilly the owlet hal- 
loos ; 

Winds creep ; dews fall chilly : in her first sleep 
earth breathes stilly : 

Over the pools in the burn water-gnats murmur and 
mourn. 

Sadly the far kine loweth : the glimmering water 
out-floweth : 

Twin peaks shadow' d with pine slope to the dark 
hyaline, 

Ivow-throned Hesper is stayed between the two 
peaks ; but the Naiad 

Throbbing in mild unrest holds him beneath in her 
breast. 

The ancient poetess singeth, that Hesperus all 
things bringeth, 

(158) 



Leo7iine Elegiacs. 159 

Smoothing the wearied mind : bring me my love, 

Rosalind. 
Thou comest morning or even ; she cometh not 

morning or even. 
False-eyed Hesper, unkind, where is my sweet 

Rosalind ? 



SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS 
oi^ A second-ratb sensitive; mind, 

God ! my God ! have mercy now. 

1 faint, I fall. Men say that Thou 
Didst die for me, for such as ine^ 
Patient of ill, and death, and scorn, 
And that my sin was as a thorn . 
Among the thorns that girt Thy brow. 
Wounding Th}'^ soul. — That even now, 
In this extremest misery 

Of ignorance, I should require 

A sign ! and if a bolt of fire 

Would rive the slumbrous summer moon 

While I do pray to Thee alone, 

Think my belief would stronger grow ! 

Is not my human pride brought low ? 

The boastings of my spirit still ? 

The joy I had in my free-will 

All cold, and dead, and corpse-like grown : 

And what is left to me, but Thou, 

And faith in Thee ? Men pass me by ; 

Christians with happy countenances — 

And children all seem full of Thee ! 

And women smile with saint-like glances 

Like Thine own mother's when she bow'd 

Above Thee, on that happ}- morn 

(i6o) 



Confessions of a Sensitive Mind. i6i 

When angels spake to men aloud, 

And Thou and peace to earth were born, i 

Good-will to me as well as all — 

I one of them : my brothers they : 

Brothers in Christ — a world of peace i 

And confidence, day after day ; . i 

And trust and hope till things should cease, | 

And then one Heaven receive us all. j 

How sweet to have a common faith ! I 

To hold a common scorn of death ! ; 

And at a burial to hear ] 

The creaking cords which wound and eat \ 

Into my human heart, whene'er \ 

Barth goes to earth, with grief, not fear, .| 
With hopeful grief, were passing sweet ! 

Thrice happy state again to be ] 

The trustful infant on the knee ! 1 

Who lets his rosy fingers play j 

About his mother's neck, and knows , 

Nothing beyond his mother's eyes. "i 
They comfort him by night and day ; 

They light his little life alway ; \ 

He hath no thought of coming woes ; ! 

He hath no care of life or death ; I 

Scarce outward signs of joy arise, j 

Because the Spirit of happiness .; 
And perfect rest so inward is ; 
And loveth so his innocent heart. 

Her temple and her place of birth, \ 

Where she would ever wish to dwell, ; 



i62 Confessions of a Sensitive Mind. 

Life of the fountain there, beneath 
Its salient springs, and far apart, 
Hating to wander out on earth. 
Or breathe into the hollow air, 
Whose chillness would make visible 
Her subtil, warm, and golden breath, 
Which mixing with the infant's blood. 
Fulfils him with beatitude. 
Oh ! sure it is a special care 
Of God, to fortify from doubt, 
To arm in proof, and guard about 
With triple-mailed trust, and clear 
Delight, the infant's dawning year. 

Would that my gloomed fancy were 

As thine, my mother, when with brows 

Propt on thy knees, my hands upheld 

In thine, I listen 'd to thy vows, 

For me outpour' d in holiest prayer — 

For me unworthy ! — and beheld 

Thy mild deep eyes upraised, that knew 

The beauty and repose of faith, 

And the clear spirit shining thro'. 

Oh ! wherefore do we grow awry 

From roots which strike so deep ? why dare 

Paths in the desert ? Could not I 

Bow myself down, where thou has knelt, 

To the earth — until the ice would melt 

Here, and I feel as thou has felt ? 

What Devil had the heart to scathe 

Flowers thou hadst rear'd — to brush the dew 

From thine own lily, when thy grave 



Confessions of a Sensitive Mind. 163 

Was deep, my mother, in the clay ? 

Myself? Is it thus ? Myself? Had I 

So little love for thee ? But why 

Prevail' d not thy pure prayers ? Why pray 

To one who heeds not, who can save 

But will not ? Great in faith, and strong 

Against the grief of circumstance 

Wert thou, and yet unheard. What if 

Thou pleadest still, and seest me drive 

Thro' utter dark a full-sail'd skiff, 

Unpiloted i' the echoing dance 

Of reboant whirlwinds, stooping low 

Unto the death, not sunk ! I know 

At matins and at even-song. 

That thou, if thou wert yet alive, 

In deep and daily prayers would'st striv 

To reconcile me with thy God. 

Albeit, my hope is gray, and cold 

At heart, thou wouldest murmur still — 

" Bring this lamb back into Thy fold, 

My Lord, if so it be Thy will." 

Would 'st tell me I must brook the rod 

And chastisement of human pride ; 

That pride, the sin of devils, stood 

Betwixt me and the light of God ! 

That hithero I had defied 

And had rejected God — that grace 

Would drop from his o'er-brimming love. 

As manna on my wilderness. 

If I would pray — that God would move 

And strike the hard, hard rock, and thence, 

Sweet in their utmost bitterness, 



1 64 Confessions of a Sensitive Mind. 

Would issue tears of penitence 

Which would keep green hope's life. Alas ! 

I think that pride hath now no place 

Nor sojourn in me. I am void, 

Dark, formless, utterly destroyed. 

Why not believe then ? Why not yet 

Anchor thy frailty there, where man 

Hath moor'd and rested ? Ask the sea 

At midnight, when the crisp slope waves 

After a tempest, rib and fret 

The broad-imbased beach, why he 

Slumbers not like a mountain tarn ? 

Wherefore his ridges are not curls 

And ripples of an inland mere ? 

Wherefore he moaneth thus, nor can 

Draw down into his vexed pools 

All that blue Heaven which hues and paves 

The other? I am too forlorn, 

Too shaken : my own weakness fools 

My judgment, and my spirit whirls, 

Moved from beneath with doubt and fear. 

** Yet," said I, in my morn of youth, 

The unsunn'd freshness of my strength. 

When I went forth in quest of truth, 

" It is man's privilege to doubt. 

If so be that from doubt at length. 

Truth may stand forth unmoved of change, 

An image with profulgent brows. 

And perfect limbs, as from the storm 

Of running fires and fluid range 

Of lawless airs, at last stood out 



Confessions of a Sensitive Mind. 



165 



This excellence and solid form 
Of constant beauty. For the Ox 
Feeds in the herb, and sleeps, or fills 
The horned valleys all about, 
And hollows of the fringed hills 
In summer heats, with placid lows 
Unfearing, till his own blood flows 
About his hoof. And in the flocks 
The lamb rejoiceth in the year, 
And raceth freely with his fere, 




"hollows of the fringed hills." 



And answers to his mother's calls 

From the flower'd furrow. In a time, 

Of which he wots not, run short pains 

Thro' his warm heart; and then, from whence 

He knows not, on his light there falls 

A shadow ; and his native slope. 

Where he was wont to leap and climb. 

Floats from his sick and filmed eyes. 

And something in the darkness draws 

His forehead earthward, and he dies. 

Shall man live thus, in joy and hope 



i66 Confessions of a Sensitive Mind. 

As a young lamb, who cannot dream, 
Living, but that he shall live on ? 
Shall we not look into the laws 
Of life and death, and things that seem, 
And things that be, and analyse 
Our double nature, and compare 
All creeds till we have found the one, 
If one there be ? " Ay nie ! I fear 
All may not doubt, but everywhere 
Some must clasp Idols. Yet, my God, 
Whom call I Idol ? Let Thy dove 
Shadow me over, and my sins 
Be unremember'd, and Thy love 
Knlighten me. Oh teach me yet 
Somewhat before the heavy clod 
Weighs on me, and the busy fret 
Of that sharp-headed worm begins 
In the gross blackness underneath. 

O weary life ! O weary death ! 
O spirit and heart made desolate ! 
O damned vacillating state ! 



THE KRAKBN. 

BEivOW the thunders of the upper deep ; 

Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea, 

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep 

The Kraken sleepeth : faintest sunlights flee 

About his shadowy sides : above him swell 

Huge sponges of millennial growth and height ; 

And far away into the sickly light, 

From many a wondrous grot and secret cell 

Unnumber'd and enormous polypi 

Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green. 

There hath he lain for ages and will lie 

Battenning upon huge seaworms in his sleep, 

Until the latter fire shall heat the deep ; 

Then once by man and angels to be seen. 

In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die. 



(167) 



SONG. 

The winds, as at their hour of birth, 
Ivcaning upon the ridged sea, 

Breathed low around the rolHng earth 
With mellow preludes, " We are free,' 

The streams thro' many a lilied row 
Down-carolling to the crisped sea, 

Low- tinkled with a bell-like flow 
Atween the blossoms, " We are free." 



(i68) 




I. 



Airy, fairy Lilian, 

Flitting, fairy Lilian, 
When I ask her if she love me, 
Claps her tiny hands above me, 

Laughing all she can ; 
Shell not tell me if she love me, 

Cruel little Lilian. 



II. 



When my passion seeks 
Pleasance in love-sighs. 

She, looking thro^ and thro' me 

Thoroughly to undo me, 
Smiling, never speaks : 
So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, 

(169) 



lyo Lilian. 

From beneath her gathered wimple 
Glancing with black-beaded eyes, 
Till the lightning laughters dimple 
The baby-roses in her cheeks ; 
Then away she flies. 

III. 

Prythee weep, May Ivilian ! 
Gaiety without eclipse 

Wearieth me, May lyilian : 
Thro^ my very heart it thrilleth 

When from crimson-threaded lips 
Silver-treble laughter trilleth : 

Prythee weep, May Lilian. 

IV. 

Praying all I can. 
If prayers will not hush thee, 

Airy lyilian. 
Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, 

Fairy Lilian. 



ISABBlv. 



Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed 
With the clear-pointed flame of chastity, 
Clear, without heat, undying, tended by 
Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane 
Of her still spirit ; locks not wide-dispread, 
Madonna-wise on either side her head ; 
Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign 
The summer calm of golden charity, 
Were fixed shadows of thy fixed mood. 

Revered Isabel, the crown and head. 
The stately flower of female fortitude. 

Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead. 

II. 

The intuitive decision of a bright 

And thorough-edged intellect to part 

Error from crime ; a prudence to with old ; 
The laws of marriage character'd in gold 
Upon the blanched tablets of her heart ; 
A lore still burning upward, giving light 
To read those laws ; an accent very low 
In blandishment, but a most silver flow 
Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, 

(171) 



172 Isabel. 

Right to the heart and brain, tho' undescried, 
Winning its way with extreme gentleness 
Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride ; 
A courage to endure and to obey ; 
A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, 
Crown' d Isabel, thro' all her placid life, 
The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife. 

III. 

The mellowed reflex of a winter moon ; 
A clear stream flowing with a muddy one, 
Till in its onward current it absorbs 

With swifter movement and in purer light 

The vexed eddies of its wayward brother: 
A leaning and upbearing parasite, 
Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite 
With cluster'd flower-bells and ambrosial orbs 
Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other — 
Shadow forth thee : — the world hath not another 
(Tho' all her fairest forms are types of thee, 
And thou of God in thy great charity) 
Of such a finish'd chasten'd purity. 



MARIANA. 

" Mariana in the moated grange." 

Measure /or Measure. 

With blackest moss the flower-plots 
Were thickly crusted, one and all : 
The rusted nails fell from the knots 

That held the pear to the gable- wall. 
The broken sheds looked sad and strange : 
Unlifted was the clinking latch ; 
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch 
Upon the lonely moated grange. 

She only said, ' ' My life is dreary, 

He Cometh not, ' ' she said ; 
She said, "I am aweary, aweary, 
I would that I were dead ! " 

Her tears fell with the dews at even ; 

Her tears fell ere the dews were dried ; 
She could not look on the sweet Heaven, 

Either at morn or eventide. 
After the flitting of the bats, 

When thickest dark did trance the sky, 

So drew her casement-curtain by, 
And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 

(173) 




I WOULD" THAT I WERE DEAD ! " 



(174) 



Mariana. 175 



She only said, "The night is dreary, 
He Cometh not," she said; 

She said, * ' I am aweary, aweary, 
I would that I were dead ! " 



Upon the middle of the night, 

Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : 
The cock sung out an hour ere light : 

From the dark fen the oxen's low 
Came to her : without hope of change. 
In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn, 
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn 
About the lonely moated grange. 

She only said, "The day is dreary, 

He Cometh not," she said ; 
She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 
I would that I were dead ! " 



About a stone-cast from the wall 

A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, 
And o'er it many, round and small. 

The cluster' d marish-mosses crept. 
Hard by the poplar shook alway. 
All silver-green with gnarled bark : 
For leagues no other tree did mark 
The level waste, the rounding gray. 
She only said, " My life is dreary. 

He Cometh not, " she said ; 
She said, "I am aweary, aweary, 
I would that I were dead ! " 



176 Mariana. 

And ever wlien the moon was low, 

And the shrill winds were up and away, 
In the white curtain, to and fro, 

She saw the gusty shadow sway. 
But when the moon was very low, 
And wild winds bound within their cell, 
The shadow of the poplar fell 
Upon her bed, across her brow. 

She only said, "The night is dreary, 

He Cometh not," she said ; 

She said, " I am aweary, aweary, \ 

I would that I were dead ! " ] 



All day within the dreamy house, 

The doors upon their hinges creak'd ; 
The blue fly sung in the pane ; the mouse 

Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd, 
Or from the crevice peer' d about. 
Old faces glimmer' d thro' the doors. 
Old footsteps trod the upper floors. 
Old voices called her from without. 
She only said, * ' My life is dreary. 

He Cometh not," she said ; 
She said, ' ' I am aweary, aweary, 
I would that I were dead ! " 



The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, 

The slow clock ticking, and the sound 

Which to the wooing wind aloof 
The poplar made, did all confound 



Mariana. 177 

Her sense ; but most she loathed the hour 
When the thick-nioted sunbeam lay 
Athwart the chambers, and the day 
Was sloping toward his western bower. 
Then, said she, ' ' I am very dreary, 

He will not cohie, " she said ; 
She wept, * * I am aweary, aweary. 
Oh God, that I were dead ! " 



MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. 

With one black shadow at its feet, 

The house thro' all the level shines, 
Close-latticed to the brooding heat. 

And silent in its dusty vines : 
A faint-blue ridge upon the right. 
An empty river-bed before, 
And shallows on a distant shore. 
In glaring sand and inlets bright. 

But ' ' Ave Mary, ' ' made she moan, 

And "Ave Mary," night and morn, 

And "Ah," she sang, " to be all alone, 

To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 

She, as her carol sadder grew. 

From brow and bosom slowly down 
Thro' rosy taper fingers drew 

Her streaming curls of deepest brown 
To left and right, and made appear 
Still-lighted in a secret shrine, 
Her melanchol)'^ eyes divine. 
The home of woe without a tear. 

And * ' Ave Mary, ' ' was her moan, 

"Madonna, sad is night and morn," 
And "Ah,"' she sang, " to be all alone, 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 

(178) 




Mariana in the South. 179 

Till all the crimson changed, and past 

Into deep orange o'er the sea, 
IyOw on her knees herself she cast. 
Before Our I^ady murmur'd she ; 
Complaining, " Mother, give me 
grace 
To help me of my weary load." 
And on the liquid mirror glow''d 
The clear perfection of her face. 
" Is this the form," she made 
her moan, 
"That won his praises night ,.,,^, '-r^mmgm«.^~~^'-'"- 

and morn ?" 
And -Ah," she said, "but I " l^ow on her knkes hkr- 

' SELF SHE CAST." 

wake alone, 
I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." 

Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat. 

Nor any cloud would cross the vault, 
But day increased from heat to heat. 

On stony drought and steaming salt ; 
Till now at noon she slept again, 

And seem'd. knee-deep in mountain grass, 
And heard her native breezes pass, 
And runlets babbling down the glen. 
She breathed in sleep a lower moan. 

And murmuring, as at night and morn, 
She thought, * ' My spirit is here alone. 
Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." 

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream : 
She felt he was and was not there. 



i8o Mariana in the South. j 

. . i 

She woke : the babble of the stream j 

Fell, and, without, the steady glare j 
Shrank one sick willow sere and small. 

The river-bed was dusty -white ; ": 
And all the furnace of the light 
Struck up against the blinding wall. 
She whisper' d, with a stifled moan 

More inward than at night or morn, 

** Sweet Mother, let me not here alone j 

Ivive forgotten and die forlorn." : 

And, rising, from her bosom drew I 

Old letters, breathing of her worth, i 

For "Love," they said, " must needs be true, ' 

To what is loveliest on earth." ' 

An image seem' d to pass the door, j 

To look at her with slight, and say 1 

" But now thy beauty flows away, , 

So be alone for evermore. " i 

"0 cruel heart," she changed her tone, | 

"And cruel love, whose end is scorn, ! 

Is this the end to be left alone. 

To live forgotten, and die forlorn?'' 

But sometimes in the falling day 

An image seem'd to pass the door, 

To look into her eyes and say, j 

"But thou shalt be alone no more." \ 

And flaming downward over all i 

From heat to heat the day decreased, i 

And slowly rounded to the east i 

The one black shadow from the wall. I 



Mariana in the South. i8l 

"The day to night," she made her moan, 
* ' The day to night, the night to morn, 

And day and night I am left alone 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 

At eve a dry cicala sung, 

There came a sound as of the sea ; 
Backward the lattice-blind she flung. 

And lean'd upon the balcony. 
There all in spaces rosy bright 

I^arge Hesper glitter'd on her tears, 

And deepening thro' the silent spheres 
Heaven over Heaven rose the night. 
And weeping then she made her moan, 

"The night comes on that knows not morn, 
When I shall cease to be all alone. 

To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 



TO 



I. 

dv^AR-HEADE^D friend, whose joyful scorn, 
Kdged with sharp laughter, cuts atwain 
The knots that tangle human creeds, 
The wounding cords that bind and strain 
The heart until it bleeds, 
Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn 

Roof not a glance so keen as thine : 
If aught of prophecy be mine. 
Thou wilt not live in vain. 

II. 

Ivow-cowering shall the Sophist sit ; 

Falsehood shall bare her plaited brow : 

Fair-fronted Truth shall droop not now 
With shrilling shafts of subtle wit. 
Nor martyr-flames nor trenchant swords 

Can do away that ancient lie ; 

A gentler death shall Falsehood die. 
Shot thro' and thro' with cunning words. 

III. 
Weak Truth a-leaning on her crutch, 
Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost need, 
Thy kingly intellect shall feed, 
Until she be an athlete bold, 

(182) 



To 



183 



And weary with a finger's touch 
Those writhed limbs of Hghtning speed ; 

I^ike that strange angel which of old, 
Until the breaking of the light, 

Wrestled with wandering Israel, 

Past Yabbok brook the livelong night, 

And Heaven's mazed signs stood still 

In the dim tract of Penuel. 







" Until the breaking of the light." 



MADELINE. 



Thou art not steep' d in golden langours, 
No tranced summer calm is thine, 

Ever varying Madeline. 
Thro' light and shadow thou dost range. 
Sudden glances sweet and strange, 

Delicious spites and darling angers, 
And airy forms of flitting change. 

II. 

Smiling, frowning, evermore, 
Thou art perfect in love-lore. 
Revealings deep and clear are thine 
Of wealthy smiles : but who may know 
Whether smile or frown be fleeter ? 
Whether smile or frown be sweeter, 

Who may know ? 
Erowns perfect-sweet along the brow 
Light-glooming over eyes divine, 
Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine. 
Ever varying Madeline. 
Thy smile and frown are not aloof 
From one another, 
Each to each is dearest brother ; 

(184) 



Madeline. 185 



Hues of the silken sheeny woof 
Momently shot into each other. 

All the mystery is thine ; 
Smiling, frowning, evermore, 
Thou art perfect in love-lore, 

Bver varying Madeline. 

III. 

A subtle, sudden flame. 
By veering passion fann'd, 

About thee breaks and dances : 
"When I would kiss thy hand, 
The flush of anger'd shame 

Overflows thy calmer glances. 
And o'er black brows drops down 
A sudden-curved frown : 
But when I turn away. 
Thou, willing me to stay, 

Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest ; 

But, looking fixedly the while, 
All my bounding heart entanglest 

In a golden-netted smile ; 
Then in madness and in bliss, 
If my lips should dare to kiss 
Thy taper fingers amorously, 
Again thou blushest angerly ; 
And o'er black brows drops down 
A sudden-curved frown. 



SONG — THE OWL. 

I. 

When cats run home and light is come, 

And dew is cold upon the ground, 
And the far-off stream is dumb, 
And the whirring sail goes round, 
And the whirring sail goes round ; 
Alone and warming his five wits, 
The white owl in the belfry sits. 

II. 

When merry milkmaids click the latch, 
And rarely smells the new-mown hay. 
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch 
Twice or thrice his roundelay. 
Twice or thrice his roundelay ; 
Alone and warming his five wits, 
The white owl in the belfry sits. 



(i86) 




'When merry milkmaids click the latch.' 



(187; 



SECOND SONG. 
To The same. 



Thy tuwhits are luU'd, I wot, 
Thy tuwhoos of yesternight, 
Which upon the dark afloat, 
So took echo with delight, 
So took echo with delight, 
That her voice untuneful grown, 
Wears all day a fainter tone. 

II. 

I would mock thy chaunt anew ; 

But I cannot mimick it ; 
Not a whit of thy tuwhoo, 
Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, 
Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, 

With a lengthen'd loud halloo, 
Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o. 



I 

(i88) \ 



_Ji 



RBCOIvLBCTlONS OI^ THE ARABIAN 
NIGHTS. 

When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free 
In the silken sail of infancy, 
The tide of time flowed back witli me, 
The forward-flowing tide of time ; 




By garden porches on the brim, the costly doors 
flung open wide." 

And many a sheeny summer-morn, 
Adown the Tigris I was borne. 
By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold, 
High-walled gardens green and old ; 

(189) 



I go Recollections of 

True Mussulman was I and sworn, 

For it was in the golden prime 

Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

Anight my shallop, rustling thro' 
The low and bloomed foliage, drove 
The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove 
The citron-shadows in the blue : 
By garden porches on the brim, 
The costly doors flung open wide, 
Gold glittering thro' lamplight dim, 
And broider'd sofas on each side : 
In sooth it was a goodly time. 
For it was in the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

Often where clear-stemm'd platans guard 
The outlet, did I turn away 
The boat-head down a broad canal 
From the main river sluiced, where all 
The sloping of the moon-lit sward 
Was damask-work, and deep inlay 
Of braided blooms unmown, which crept 
Adown to where the water slept. 
A goodly place, a goodly time. 
For it was in the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

A motion from the river won 
Ridged the smooth level, bearing on 
My shallop thro' the star-strown calm, 
Until another night in night 



The Arabian Nights. 191 

I enter'd, from the clearer liglat, 
Ittibower'd vaults of pillar' d palm, 
Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb 
Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome 

Of hollow boughs. — A goodly time. 

For it was in the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

Still onward ; and the clear canal 
Is rounded to as clear a lake. 
From the green rivage many a fall 
Of diamond rillets musical, 
Thro' little crystal arches low 
Down from the central fountain's flow 
Fall'n silver-chiming, seemed to shake 
The sparkling flints beneath the prow. 

A goodly place, a goodly time, 

For it was in the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

Above thro' many a bowery turn 
A walk with vary-colour'd shells 
Wander'd engrain'd. On either side 
All round about the fragrant marge 
From fluted vase, and brazen urn 
In order, eastern flowers large, 
Some dropping low their crimson bells 
Half-closed, and others studded wide 

With disks and tiars, fed the time 

With odour in the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid, 



192 Recollections of 



Far off, and where the lemon grove j 

In closest coverture upsprung, ] 

The living airs of middle night j 

Died round the bulbul as he sung ; \ 

Not he : but something which possess'd 1 

The darkness of the world, delight, j 

Life, anguish, death, immortal love, j 

Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd, ] 

Apart from place, withholding time, ■ 

But flattering the golden prime 

Of good Haroun Alraschid. i 



Black the garden-bowers and grots 
Slumber d : the solemn palms were ranged 
Above, unwoo'd of summer wind : 
A sudden splendour from behind 
Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green, 
And, flowing rapidly between 
Their interspaces, counterchanged 
The level lake with diamond-plots 
Of dark and bright. A lovely time. 
For it was in the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead, 
Distinct with vivid stars inlaid, 
Grew darker from that under-flame : 
So, leaping lightly from the boat, 
"With silver anchor left afloat, 
In marvel whence that glory came 
Upon me, as in sleep I sank 
In cool soft turf upon the bank, 



The Arabian Nights. 193 

Entranced with that place and time, 
So worthy of the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

Thence thro' the garden I was drawn — 
A realm of pleasance, many a mound, 
And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn 
Full of the city's stilly sound, 
And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round 
The stately cedar, tamarisks, 
Thick rosaries of scented thorn, 
Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks 

Graven with emblems of the time. 

In honour of the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

With dazed vision unawares 
From the long alley's latticed shade 
E)merged, I came upon the great 
Pavilion of the Caliphat. 
Right to the carven cedarn doors. 
Flung inward over spangled floors, 
Broad-based flights of marble stairs 
Ran up with golden balustrade, 

After the fashion of the time. 

And humour of the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 

The fourscore windows all alight 
As with the quintessence of flame, 
A million tapers flaring bright 
From twisted silvers look'd to shame 



194 



Recollections of 




The hollow-vaulted dark, 

and stream'd 
Upon the mooned domes 

aloof 
In inmost Bagdat, till 

there seemed 
Hundreds of crescents on 

the roof 
Of night new-risen, that 

marvellous time 
To celebrate the golden 

prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 



" The sweetest lady of the time." 



Then stole I 
trancedly- 
Gazed on the Persian girl alone. 
Serene with argent-lidded eyes 
Amorous, and lashes like to rays 
Of darkness, and a brow of pearl 
Tressed with redolent ebony, 
In many a dark delicious curl, 
Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone ; 
The sweetest lady of the time. 
Well worthy of the golden prime 
Of good Haroun Alraschid. 



up. 



and 



Six columns, three on either side, 
Pure silver, underpropt a rich 
Throne of the massive ore, from which 
Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold, 



The Arabian Nights. 195 ] 

i 
, j 



Bngarlanded and diaper'd i 

With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. 

Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd \ 

With merriment of kingly pride, 

Sole star of all that place and time, ' ■ 

I saw him — in his golden prime. 
The Good Haroun Ai^raschid. 



ODE TO MEMORY. 

ADDRKSSED TO . 



Thou who stealest fire, 
From the fountains of the past, 
To glorify the present ; oh, haste, 

Visit my low desire ! 
Strengthen me, enlighten me ! 
I faint in this obscurity, 
Thou dewy dawn of memory. 

II. 

Come not as thou camest of late, 
Flinging the gloom of yesternight 
On the white day ; but robed in soften' d light 

Of orient state. 
Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, 

Even as a maid, whose stately brow 
The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd, 

When, she, as thou. 
Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight 
Of overflowing blooms, and earliest shoots 
Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits. 
Which in winter-tide shall star 
The black earth with brilliance rare. 

(196) 



i 



Ode to Memory. 197 

III. 

Whilome thou earnest with the morning mist, 

And with the evening cloud, 
Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast 
(Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind 

Never grow sere, 
When rooted in the garden of the mind, 

Because they are the earliest of the year). 
Nor was the night thy shroud. 
In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest 
Thou leddest by the hand thine infant Hope. 
The eddying of her garments caught from thee 
The light of thy great presence ; and the cope 

Of the half-attain'd futurity, 

Tho' deep not fathomless, 
Was cloven with the million stars which tremble 
O'er the deep mind of dauntless infancy. 
Small thought was there of life's distress ; 
For sure she deem''d no mist of earth could dull 
Those spirit-thrilling eyes so keen and beautiful i 
Sure she was nigher to Heaven's spheres, 
lyistening the lordly music flowing from 
The illimitable years. 

strengthen me, enlighten me ! 

1 faint in this obscurity, 
Thou dewy dawn of memory. 

IV. 

Come forth, I charge thee, arise. 

Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes ! 

Thou comest not with shows of flaunting vines 



198 Ode to Memory. 

Unto mine inner eye, 
Divinest Memory ! 
Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall 
Which ever sounds and shines 

A pillar of white light upon the wall 
Of purple cliffs, aloof descried : 
Come from the woods that belt the gray hill-side, 
The seven elms, the poplars four 
That stand beside my father's door, 
And chiefly from the brook that loves 
To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand, 
Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves, 
Drawing into his narrow earthen urn. 

In every elbow and turn, 
The filter' d tribute of the rough woodland, 

O ! hither lead thy feet ! 
Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat 
Of the thick-fleeced sheep from wattled folds, 

Upon the ridged wolds. 
When the first matin-song hath waken 'd loud 
Over the dark dewy earth forlorn. 
What time the amber morn 
Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud. 

V. 

I^arge dowries doth the raptured eye 
To the young spirit present 
When first she is wed ; 

And like a bride of old 
In triumph led. 

With music and sweet showers 
Of festal flowers, 



Ode to Memory. 199 

Unto the dwelling she must sway. 
Well hast thou done, great artist Memory, 

In setting round thy first experiment 
With royal frame- work of wrought gold ; 
Needs must thou dearly love thy first essay. 
And foremost in thy various gallery 

Place it, where sweetest sunlight falls 

Upon the storied walls ; 
For the discovery 
And newness of thine art so pleased thee. 
That all which thou hast drawn of fairest 

Or boldest since, but lightly weighs 
With thee unto the love thou bearest 
The first-born of thy genius. Artist-like, 
Ever retiring thou dost gaze 
On the prime labour of thine early days : 
No matter what the sketch might be ; 
Whether the high field on the bushless Pike, 
Or even a sand-built ridge 
Of heaped hills that mound the sea. 
Overblown with murmurs harsh. 
Or even a lowly cottage whence we see 
Stretch' d wide and wild the waste enormous marsh, 
Where from the frequent bridge, 
Like emblems of infinity. 
The trenched waters run from sky to sky ; 
Or a garden bower'd close 
With plaited alleys of the trailing rose, 
Long alleys falling down to twilight grots. 
Or opening upon level plots 
Or crowned lilies, standing near 
Purple-spiked lavender : 



20O Ode to Memory. *; 

Whither in after life retired 

From brawling storms, * \ 

From weary wind, j 

With youthful fancy re-inspired, \ 

We may hold converse with all forms I 

Of the many-sided mind, \ 

And those whom passion hath not blinded, \ 

Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded. : 

My friend, with you to live alone, ] 

Were how much better than to own 

A crown, a sceptre and a throne ! j 

strengthen me, enlighten me ! \ 

1 faint in this obscurity, \ 
Thou dewy dawn of memory. i 



i 




I. 



A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours 
Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers 
To himself he talks ; 

(201) 



202 Song. 

For at eventide, listening earnestly, 
At his work you may hear him sob and sigh 
In the walks ; 

Barthward he boweth the heavy stalks 
Of the mouldering flowers : 

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower 

Over its grave i' the earth so chilly ; 
Heavily hangs the hollyhock, 
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. 

II. 

The air is damp, and hush'd, and close. 

As a sick man's room when he taketh repose 

An hour before death ; 
My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves 
At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, 

And the breath 

Of the fading edges of box beneath, 
And the year's last rose. 

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower 

Over its grave i' the earth so chillyj 
Heavily hangs the hollyhock. 

Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. 



. A CHARACTER. 

With a half-glance upon the sky 
At night he said, " The wanderings 
Of this most intricate Universe 
Teach me the nothingness of things." 
Yet could not all creation pierce 
Beyond the bottom of his eye. 

He spake of beauty : that the dull 

Saw no divinity in grass, 

Life in dead stones, or spirit in air ; 

Then looking as 'twere in a glass, 

He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair, 

And said the earth was beautiful. 

He spake of virtue : not the gods 
More purely, when they wish to charm 
Pallas and Juno sitting by : 
And with a sweeping of the arm. 
And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye. 
Devolved his rounded periods. 

Most delicately hour by hour 
He canvass' d human mysteries, 
And trod on silk, as if the winds 



(203) 

i 
i 



204 A Character. 



Blew his own praises in his eyes, 
And stood aloof from other minds 
In impotence of fancied power. 

With lips depress' d as he were meek, 
Himself unto himself he sold : 
Upon himself himself did feed : 
Quiet, dispassionate, and cold, 
And other than his form of creed. 
With chisell'd features clear and sleek. 



THE POET. 

ThK poet in a golden clime was born, 

With golden stars above ; 
Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, 

The love of love. 

He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill, 

He saw thro' his own soul. 
The marvel of the everlasting will, 

An open scroll, 

Before him lay : with echoing feet he threaded 
The secretest walks of fame : 

The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed 
And wing'd with flame, 

Ivike Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue. 

And of so fierce a flight, 
From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung. 

Filling with light 

And vagrant melodies the winds which bore 
Them earthward till they lit ; 

Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower, 
The fruitful wit 

(205) 



2o6 The Poet. 

Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew 

Where'er they fell, behold. 
Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew 

A flower all gold, 

And bravely furnish 'd all abroad to fling 

The winged shafts of truth, 
To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring 

Of Hope and Youth. 

So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, 

Tho' one did fling the fire. 
Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams 

Of high desire. 

Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world 
Like one great garden show'd, 

And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd 
Rare sunrise flow'd. 

And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise 

Her beautiful bold brow, 
When rites and forms before his burning eyes 

Melted like snow. 

There was no blood upon her maiden robes 
Sunn'd by those orient skies ; 

But round about the circles of the globes 
Of her keen eyes 

And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame 
Wisdom, a name to shake 



The Poet. 



207 



All evil dreams of power — a sacred name. 
And when she spake, 

Her words did gather thunder as they ran, 

And as the lightning to the thunder 

Which follows it, riving the spirit of man, 
Making earth wonder, 

So was their meaning to her words. No sword 
Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, 

But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word 
She shook the world. 




the: POET'S MIND. 



I. 



Vex not thou the poet's mind 

With thy shallow wit : 

Vex not thou the poet's mind ; j 

For thou canst not fathom it. ] 

Clear and bright it should be ever, i 
Flowing like a crystal river ; 
Bright as light, and clear as wind. 

ir. ' 
Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear ; 

All the place is holy ground ; * 

Hollow smile and frozen sneer 

Come not here. \ 

Holy water will I pour I 

Into every spicy flower j 

Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around. j 

The flowers would faint at your cruel cheer. | 

In your eye there is death, ! 

There is frost in your breath ' 

Which would blight the plants. 

Where you stand you cannot hear ; 

From the groves within - 

The wild-bird's din. ; 

(208) ■ I 



The PoeVs Mind. 209 

In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants. 
It would fall to the ground if you came in. 

In the middle leaps a fountain 
lyike sheet lightning, 
Ever brightening 

With a low melodious thunder ; 
All day and all night it is ever drawn 

From the brain of the purple mountain 

Which stands in the distance yonder : 
It springs on a level of bowery lawn, 
And the mountain draws it from Heaven above, 
And it sings a song of undying love ; 
And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and fall. 
You never would hear it ; your ears are so dull ; 
So keep where you are : you are foul with sin ; 
It would shrink to the earth if you came in. 




v^V if 



THE SEA-FAIRIES. 

Si,ow sail'd the weary mariners and saw, 
Betwixt the green brink and the running foam, 
Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest 
To little harps of gold ; and while they mused 
Whispering to each other half in fear, 
Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea. 

Whither away, whither away, whither away ? fly no 

more. 
Whither away from the high green field, and the 

happy blossoming shore ? 
Day and night to the billow the fountain calls : 
Down shower the gambolling waterfalls 
From wandering o'er the lea : 
Out of the live-green heart of the dells 
They freshen the silvery-crimson shells. 
And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells 
High over the full-toned sea : 

(210) 



^s 



The Sea- Fairies. 211 



O hither, come hither and furl your sails, 

Come hither to me and to me : < 

Hither, come hither and frolic and play ; j 

Here it is only the mew that wails ; 

We will sing to you all the day : . • 

Mariner, mariner, furl your sails. 
For here are the blissful downs and dales. 
And merrily, merrily carol the gales, 
And the spangle dances in bight and bay, 
And the rainbow forms and flies on the land 
Over the islands free ; 

And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand ; ■ 

Hither, come hither and see ; ; 

And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave, \ 

And sweet is the colour of cove and cave, 

And sweet shall your welcome be : j 

O hither, come hither, and be our lords, \ 

For merry brides are we : \ 

We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words : i 

O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten 

With pleasure and love and jubilee : ' 

O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten | 

When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords < 

Runs up the ridged sea. 
Who can light on as happy a shore 

All the world o'er, all the world o'er? i 

Whither away ? listen and stay : mariner, mariner, ; 

fly no more. \ 



THE DESERTED HOUSE. 



Liii'E and Thought have gone away 

Side by side, 

Leaving door and windows wide : 
Careless tenants they ! 

II. 

All within is dark as night : 
In the windovy^s is no light 
And no murmur at the door, 
So frequent on its hinge before. 

Ill, 

Close the door, the shutters close, 

Or thro' the windows we shall see 
The nakedness and vacancy 

Of the dark deserted house. 

ly- 

Come away : no more of mirth 

Is here or merry-making sound. 

The house was builded of the earth, 
And shall fall again to ground. 

(212) 




"The dark deserted house." 



(213) 



214 The Deserted House. 



V. 



Come away : for Ivife and Thought ' 

Here no longer dwell ; ^ 

But in a city glorious — j 

A great and distant ciiy — have bought i 

A mansion incorruptible. ^ 

Would they could have stayed with us ! | 



THE DYING SWAN. 



The plain was grassy, wild and bare, 
Wide, wild, and open to the air, 
Which had built up everywhere 

An under-roof of doleful gray. 
With an inner voice the river ran, 
Adown it floated a dying swan. 
And loudly did lament. 

It was the middle of the day. 
Bver the weary wind went on, 

And took the reed-tops as it went. 

II. 

Some blue peaks in the distance rose, 

And white against the cold-white sky, 

Shone out their crowning snows. 
One willow over the river wept. 

And shook the wave as the wind did sigh ; 

Above in the wind was the swallow. 
Chasing itself at its own wild will. 
And far thro' the marish green and still 
The tangled water-courses slept. 

Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow. 



(215) i 



2i6 The Dying Swan, 



III. 
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul 
Of that waste place with joy 
Hidden in sorrow : at first to the ear 
The warble was low, and full and clear ; 
And floating about the under-sky, 
Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole 




" The shepherd who watcheth the evening star.'* 

Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear ; 

But anon her awful jubilant voige, 

With a music strange and manifold, 

Flow'd forth on *a carol free and bold ; 

As when a mighty people rejoice 

"With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, 

And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd 

Thro' the open gates of the city afar, 

To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. 



_A 



The Dying Swan. 217 

And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds, 
And the willow-branches hoar and dank, 
And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds, 
And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank, 
And the silvery marish-flowers that throng 
The desolate creeks and pools among, 
Were flooded over with eddying song. 



A dirg:e. 
I. 

Now is done thy long day's work ; 
Fold thy palms across thy breast, 
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. 

Let them rave. 
Shadows of the silver birk 
Sweep the green that folds thy grave. 

lyet them rave. 

II. 

Thee nor carketh care nor slander ; 
Nothing but the small cold worm 
Fretteth thine enshrouded form. 

Let them rave. 
Light and shadow ever wander 
O'er the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

in. 

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; 
Chaunteth not the brooding bee 
Sweeter tones than calumny? 
Let them rave. 

(218) 



A Dirge. 219 

Thou wilt never raise thine head 
From the green that folds thy grave. 
I/ct them rave. 



IV. 

Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; 

The woodbine and eglatere 

Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. 

Let them rave. 
Rain makes music in the tree 
O'er the green that folds thy grave. 

Ivet them rave. 



Round thee blow, self-pleached deep, 
Bramble roses, faint and pale. 
And long purples of the dale. 

lyCt them rave. 
These in every shower creep 
Thro' the green that folds thy grave. 

I^et them rave. 



VI. j 

The gold-eyed kingcups fine ; ] 

The frail bluebell peereth over 

Rare broidry of the purple clover. j 

Let them rave. j 

Kings have no such couch as thine, "\ 

As the green that folds thy grave. j 

Let them rave. ! 



220 A Dirge. \ 

VII. i 

J 

Wild words wander here and there : 1 

God's great gift of speech abused 1 
Makes thy memory confused : 

But let them rave. j 

The balm-cricket carols clear i 

In the green that folds thy grave. i 

I/ct them rave. : 



LOVE AND DEATH. 

What time the mighty moon was gathering light 

lyove paced the thy my plots of Paradise, 

And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes ; 

When, turning round a cassia, full in view. 

Death, walking all alone beneath a yew. 

And talking to himself, first met his sight : 

"You must begone," said Death, "these walks are 

mine." 
Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight ; 
Yet ere he parted said, "This hour is thine : 
Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree 
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath, 
So in the light of great eternity 
Life eminent creates the shade of death ; 
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall. 
But I shall reign for ever over all." 



(221) 



THE BAIvIvAD OF ORIANA. 

My heart is wasted with my woe, 

Oriana. 
There is no rest for me below, 

Oriana, 
When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow, 
And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, 

Oriana, 
Alone I wander to and fro, 

Oriana. 

Kre the light on dark was growing, 

Oriana, 
At midnight the cock was crowing, 

Oriana : 
Winds were blowing, waters flowing. 
We heard the steeds to battle going, 

Oriana ; 
Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, 

Oriana. 

In the yew-wood black as night, 

Oriana, 
Ere I rode into the fight, 

Oriana, 

(222) 



Oriana. 



223 



While blissful tears blinded my sight 
By star-shine and by moonlight, 

Oriana, 
I to thee my troth did plight, 

Oriana. 




" She stood upon the castle wall. 



She stood upon the castle wall, 

Oriana : 
She watch'd my crest among them all, 

Oriana : 



224 Oriana. 

She saw me fight, she heard me call, 
When forth there stept a foeman tall, 

Oriana, 
Atween me and the castle wall, 

Oriana. 



The bitter arrow went aside, 

Oriana : 
The false, false arrow went aside, 

Oriana : 
The damned arrow glanced aside, 
^nd pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, 

Oriana ! 
Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, 

Oriana ! 



Oh ! narrow, narrow was the space, 

Oriana. 
Ivoud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, 

Oriana. 
Oh ! deathful stabs were dealt apace. 
The battle deepen 'd in its place, 

Oriana ; 
But I was down upon my face, 

Oriana. 



They should have stabb'd me where I lay, 

Oriana ! 
How could I rise and come away, 

Oriana ? 



Oriana. 225 

How could I look upon the day ? 

They should have stabb'd me where I lay, 

Oriana — 
They should have trod me into clay, 

Oriana. 



O breaking heart that will not break, 

Oriana ! 
O pale, pale face so sweet and meek, 

Oriana ! 
Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak, 
And then the tears run down my cheek, 

Oriana : 
What wantest thou ? whom dost thou seek, 

Oriana ? 



I cry aloud ; none hear my cries, 

Oriana. 
Thou comest atween me and the skies, 

Oriana. 
I feel the tears of blood arise 
Up from my heart unto my eyes, 

Oriana. 
Within thy heart my arrow lies, 

Oriana. 



O cursed hand ! O cursed blow ! 

Oriana ! 
O happy thou that liest low, 

Oriana ! 



226 Oriana. 

All nigtit the silence seems to flow 
Beside me in my utter woe, 

Oriana. 
A weary, weary way I go, 

Oriana. 

When Norland winds pipe down the sea, 

Oriana, 
I walk, I dare not think of thee, 

Oriana. 
Thou liest beneath the greenwood tree, 
I dare not die and come to thee, 

Oriana. 
I hear the roaring of the sea, 

Oriana. 




circumstance:. 

Two children in two neighbour villages 
Playing mad pranks along the healthy leas ; 
Two strangers meeting at a festival ; 
Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall ; 
Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease ; 
Two graves grass-green beside a gray church-tower, 
Wash'd with still rains and daisy blossomed ; 
Two children in one hamlet born and bred ; 
So runs the round of life from hour to hour. 




(227) 



THE MERMAN. 



Who would be 
A merman bold, 
Sitting alone, 
Singing alone 
Under the sea, 
"With a crown of gold, 
On a throne ? 

II. 

I would be a merman bold, 
I would sit and sing the whole of the day ; 
I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power • 
But at night I would roam abroad and play 
With the mermaids in and out of the rocks, 
Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower ; 
And holding them back by their flowing locks 
I would kiss them often under the sea, 
And kiss them again till they kiss'd me 

Laughingly, laughingly ; 
And then we would wander away, away 
To the pale-green sea-groves straight and high, 

Chasing each other merrily. 

(228; 



The Merman. 229 



III. 

There would be neither moon nor star ; 

But the wave would make music above us afar — 

Low thunder and light in the magic night — 

Neither moon nor star. 
We would call aloud in the dreamy dells, 
Call to each other and whoop and cry 

All night, merrily, merrily ; 
They would pelt me with starry spangles and shells, 
Laughing and clapping their hands between. 

All night, merrily, merrily : 
But I would throw to them back in mine 
Turkis and agate and almondine : 
Then leaping out upon them unseen 
I would kiss them often under the sea. 
And kiss them again till they kiss'd me 

Laughingly, laughingly. 
Oh ! what a happy life were mine 
Under the hollow-hung ocean green ! 
Soft are the moss-beds under the sea ; 
We would live merrily, merrily. 



THE MERMAID. 



I. 

Who would be 
A mermaid fair, 
Singing alone, 
Combing her hair 
Under the sea, 
In a golden curl 
With a comb of pearl, 
On a throne? 




II. 



I would be a mer- 
maid fair ; 
I would sing to myself 
the whole of the 
day; 
With a comb of pearl 
I would comb my 
hair ; 




"a mermaid fair.' 



(230) 



The Mermaid. 231 



And still as I comb'd I would sing and say, >. 

" Who is it loves me ? who loves not me ?" I 

I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall ■ 

Low adown, low adown, \ 

From under my starry sea-bud crown ,! 

Ivow adown and around, j 

And I should look like a fountain of gold ] 

Springing alone j 

With a shrill inner sound, I 

Over the throne 

In the midst of the hall ; I 

I 

Till that great sea-snake under the sea ; 

From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps 

Would slowly trail himself sevenfold j 

Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate 1 

With his large calm eyes for the love of me. 

And all the mermen under the sea j 

Would feel their immortality ' ; 

Die in their hearts for the love of me. 



III. 



But at night I would wander away, away, 

I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks, 

And lightly vault from the throne and play 
With the mermen in and out of the rocks ; 

We would run to and fro, and hide and seek. 
On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells, 
Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea. 

But if any came near I would call, and shriek, 

And adown the steep like a wave I would leap 



232, The ^Mermaid. 



From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells ; 
For I would not be kiss'd by all who would list, 
Of the bold merry mermen under the sea ; 
They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me. 
In the purple twilights under the sea ; 
But the king of them all would carry me. 
Woo me, and win me, and marry me. 
In the branching jaspers under the sea ; 
Then all the dry pied things that be 
In the hueless mosses under the sea 
Would curl round my silver feet silently, 
All looking up for the love of me. 
And if I should carol aloud, from aloft 
All things that are forked, and horned, and soft 
Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea, 
All looking down for the love of ime. 




ADELINE. 



Mystery of mysteries, 

Faintly smiling Adeline, 
Scarce of earth nor all divine. 

Nor unhappy, nor at rest. 

But beyond expression fair 
With thy floating flaxen hair ; 

Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes 

Take the heart from out my breast. 
Wherefore those dim looks of thine. 
Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? 

II. 

Whence that aery bloom of thine, 
Ivike a lily which the sun 

lyooks thro' in his sad decline, 
And a rose-bush leans upon. 

Thou that faintly smilest still, 
As a Naiad in a well. 
Looking at the set of day, 

Or a phantom two hours old 
Of a maiden past away. 

Ere the placid lips be cold ? 

(233) 



234 Adeline. 

Wherefore those faint smiles of thine, 
Spiritual Adeline ? 



iir. 

What hope or fear or joy is thine? ; 

Who talketh with thee, Adeline ? i 

For sure thou art not all alone. | 

Do beating hearts of salient springs 

Keep measure with thine own ? 5 

Hast thou heard the butterflies j 

What they say betwixt their wings? 

Or in stillest evenings '. 

With what voice the violet woos i 

To his heart the silver dews ? ; 

Or when little airs arise, '■ 

How the merry bluebell rings ! 

To the mosses underneath ? \ 

Hast thou look'd upon the breath j 

Of the lilies at sunrise ? \ 

Wherefore that faint smile of thine, ] 

Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? \ 



IV. 

Some honey-converse feeds thy niind, 
Some spirit of a crimson rose 
In love with thee forgets to close 
His curtains, wasting odorous sighs 

All night long on darkness blind. 

What aileth thee ? whom waitest thou 

With thy soften' d, shadow'd brow, 



Adeline. 235 

And those dew-lit eyes of thine, 
Thou faint smiler, Adeline? 

V. 

Lovest thou the doleful wind 

When thou gazest at the skies ? 
Doth the low-tongued Orient 

Wander from the side of the morn, 
Dripping with Sabsean spice 
On thy pillow, lowly bent 

With melodious airs lovelorn, 
Breathing Light against thy face, 
While his locks a-drooping twined 

Round thy neck in subtle ring 
Make a carcanet of rays ? 

And ye talk together still, 
In the language wherewith Spring 
Letters cowslips on the hill ? 
Hence that look and smile of thine. 
Spiritual Adeline. 



MARGARET. 



I. 



O SWEET pale Margaret, 

O rare pale Margaret, i 

What lit your eyes with tearful power, , 

Like moonlight on a falling shower ? \ 

Who lent you love, your mortal dower i 
Of pensive thought and aspect pale. 
Your melancholy sweet and frail 

As perfume of the cuckoo-flower ? ^ 

From the westward- winding flood, : 
From the evening-lighted wood. 

From all things outward you have won 

A tearful grace, as tho' you stood , 

Between the rainbow and the sun. i 

The very smile before you speak, j 

That dimples your transparent cheek, • 
Bncircles all the heart, and feedeth 

The senses with a still delight i 

Of dainty sorrow without sound, ] 

Ivike the tender amber round, j 

Which the moon about her spreadeth, | 
Moving thro' a fleecy night. 

-j 

II. \ 

You love, remaining peacefully, ^ 

To hear the murmur of the strife, ' 

But enter not the toil of life. ' 

(236) j 



J 



Margaret 



237 



Your spirit is the calmed sea, 

Laid by the tumult of the fight. 
You are the evening star, alway 




OF PENSIVE THOUGHT AND ASPECT PALE. 



238 Margaret. 

Remaining betwixt dark and bright : 
L/ull'd echoes of laborious day 

Come to you, gleams of mellow light 
Float by you on the verge of night. 



III. 

What can it matter, Margaret, 

What songs below the waning stars 
The lion-heart, Plantagenet, 

Sang looking thro' his prison bars ? 
Exquisite Margaret, who can tell 
The last wild thought of Chatelet, 
Just ere the falling axe did part 
The burning brain from the true heart. 
Even in her sight he loved so well ? 



IV. 

A fairy shield your Genius made 

And gave you on your natal day. 
Your sorrow, only sorrow's shade, 

Keeps real sorrow far away. 
You move not in such solitudes, 

You are not less divine, 
But more human in your moods. 

Than your twin-sister, Adeline. 
Your hair is darker, and your eyes 

Touch' d with a somewhat darker hue, 

And less aerially blue. 

But ever trembling thro' the dew 
Of dainty- woeful sympathies. 



Margaret. 239 

V. 

O sweet pale Margaret, 
O rare pale Margaret, 
Come down, come down, and hear me speak : 
Tie up the ringlets on your cheek : 

The sun is just about to set. 
The arching lines are tall and shady, 
And faint, rainy lights are seen, 
Moving in the leavy beech. 
Rise from the feast of sorrow, lady, 

Where all day long you sit between 
Joy and woe, and whisper each. 
Or only look across the lawn, 

l/ook out below your bower-eaves, 
I^ook down, and let your blue eyes dawn 
Upon me thro' the jasmine-leaves. 



ROSALIND. 



My Rosalind, my Rosalind, ' 

My frolic falcon, with bright eyes, \ 

Whose free delight, from any height of rapid flight, ^ 
Stoops at all game that wing the skies. 

My Rosalind, my Rosalind, \ 

My bright-eyed, wild-eyed falcon, whither, ■ 

Careless both of wind and weather, ^ 

Whither fly ye, what game spy ye, ,; 

Up or down the streaming wind ? | 



II. 



The quick lark's closest- caroU'd strains, 
The shadow rushing up the sea. 
The lightning flash atween the rains, 
The sunlight driving down the lea, 
The leaping stream, the very wind, 
That will not stay, upon his way, 
To stoop the cowslip to the plains, 

(240) 



Rosalind. 241 

Is not so clear and bold and free 
As you, my falcon Rosalind. 
"Vou care not for another's pains, 
Because you are the soul of joy, 
Bright metal all without alloy. 
Life shoots and glances thro' your veins, 
And flashes off a thousand ways. 
Thro' lips and eyes in subtle rays. 
Your hawk-eyes are keen and bright. 
Keen with triumph, watching still 
To pierce me thro' with pointed light ; 
But oftentimes they flash and glitter 
Ivike sunshine on a dancing rill. 
And your words are seeming-bitter, 
Sharp and few, but seeming-bitter 
From excess of swift delight. 



III. 



Come down, come home, my Rosalind, 
My gay young hawk, my Rosalind : 
Too long you keep the upper skies ; 
Too long you roam and wheel at will ; 
But we must hood your random eyes, 
That care not whom they kill, 
And your cheek, whose brilliant hue 
Is so sparkling- fresh to view. 
Some red heath-flower in the dew, 
Touch'd with sunrise. We must bind 
And keep you fast, my Rosalind, 



242 Rosalind. 



Fast, fast, my wild-eyed Rosalind, 

And clip your wings, and make you love : 

When we have lured you from above. 

And that delight of frolic flight, by day or night, 

From North to South, 

We'll bind you fast in silken cords. 

And kiss away the bitter words 

From off your rosy mouth. 



EI^EANORK. 



I. 



Thy dark eyes open'd not, 

Nor first reveal' d themselves to Bnglisli air, 
For there is nothing here, 
Which, from the outward to the inward brought. 
Moulded thy baby thought. 
Far off from human neighbourhood. 

Thou wert born, on a summer morn, : 
A mile beneath the cedar-wood. 
Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd 

With breezes from our oaken glades, 
But thou wert nursed in some delicious land 

Of lavish lights, and floating shades : 
And flattering thy childish thought 

The oriental fairy brought, 
At the moment of thy birth , 
From old well-heads of haunted rills. 
And the hearts of purple hills, 

And shadow' d coves on a sunny shore. 
The choicest wealth of all the earth, 

Jewel or shell, or starry ore, 

To deck thy cradle, Eleanore, 

(243) 



244 Eleanore. \ 



\ 

Or the yellow-banded bees, \ 

Thro' half-open lattices % 

Coming in the scented breeze, ! 
Fed thee, a child, lying alone. 

With whitest honey in fairy gardens culFd — i 

A glorious child, dreaming alone, \ 

In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, J 

With the hum of swarming bees \ 

Into dreamful slumber luU'd. ] 



III, 



Who may minister to thee ? 
Summer herself should minister 

To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded 
On golden salvers, or it may be, 
Youngest Autumn, in a bower 
Grape-thicken'd from the light, and blinded 

With many a deep-hued bell-like flower 
Of fragrant trailers, when the air 

Sleepeth over all the Heaven, 
And the crag that fronts the Kven, 
All along the shadowing shore. 
Crimsons over an inland mere, 
Bleanore ! 



IV. 



How may full-sail 'd verse express. 
How may measured words adore 



Ele'dnore. 245 

Thy full-flowing harmony 
Of thy swan-like stateliness, 
Eleanore? 
The luxuriant symmetry 
Of thy floating gracefulness, 
Kleanore ? 

Bvery turn and glance of thine, j 

Kvery lineament divine, ;j 

Bleanore, 

And the steady sunset glow, ' 

That stays upon thee ? For in thee j 

Is nothing sudden, nothing single ; \ 

lyike two streams of incense free i 

From one censer in one shrine, \ 

Thought and motion mingle, \ 

Mingle ever. Motions flow ' \ 

To one another, even as tho' . • 

They were modulated so 

To an unheard melody, ! 

Which lives about thee, and a sweep i 

Of richest pauses, evermore \ 

Drawn from each other mellow-deep ; 1 

Who may express thee, Kleanore ? 

i 
V. • \ 



I stand before thee, Kleanore ; 

I see thy beauty gradually unfold, 
Daily and hourly, more and more. 
I muse, as in a trance, the while 

Slowly, as from a cloud of gold. 
Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile. 



246 Eleanore. \ 

\ 

: '■ r^ i 

I muse, as 111 a trance, wnene er ^ 

The languors of thy love-deep eyes \ 
Float on to me. I would I were 

So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies, 1 

To stand apart, and to adore, I 

Gazing on thee for evermore, \ 

Serene, imperial Kleanore ! \ 

VI. \ 

Sometimes, with most intensity | 

Gazing, I seem to see j 

Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep, ; 

Slowly awaken' d, grow so full and deep " 

In thy large eyes, that, overpower' d quite, J 

I cannot veil, or droop my sight, j 

But am as nothing in its light : \ 
As tho' a star, in inmost Heaven set, ^ ] 

Kv'n while we gaze on it, i 

Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow j 

To a full face, there like a sun remain ] 

Fix'd — then slowly fade again, | 

And draw itself to what it was before ; \ 
So full, so deep, so slow, 

Thought seems to come and go ] 

In thy large eyes, imperial Bleanore. ^ 

VII. I 

As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, ; 

Roof'd the world with doubt and fear, \ 
Floating thro' an evening atmosphere, 



i 



Eleanore. 



247 




" On silken cushions half reclined. 



Grow golden all about the sky ; 
In thee all passion becomes passionless, 
Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness, 
Losinor his fire and active miorht 



248 Eleanore. 

In a silent meditation, 
Falling into a still delight, 

And luxury of contemplation : 
As waves that up a quiet cove 
Rolling slide, and lying still 
Shadow forth the banks at will : 
Or sometimes they swell and move, 
Pressing up against the land, 
With motions of the outer sea : 
And the self-same influence 
Controlleth all the soul and sense 
Of Passion gazing upon thee. 
His bow-string slacken''d, languid Love, 
Leaning his cheek upon his hand. 
Droops both his wings, regarding thee. 
And so would languish evermore, 
Serene, imperial Eleanore. 



VIII. 



But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined, 
While the amorous, odorous wind 

Breathes low between the sunset and the moon ; 
Or, in a shadowy saloon. 
On silken cushions half reclined ; 

I watch thy grace ; and in its place 
My heart a charmed slumber keeps. 

While I muse upon thy face ; 
And a languid fire creeps 

Thro' my veins to all my frame, 
Dissolvingly and slowly : soon 



Eleanore. 249 

From thy rose-red lips my name 
Floweth ; and then, as in a swoon, 
With dinning sound my ears are rife, 

My tremulous tongue faltereth, 
I lose my colour, I lose my breath, 
I drink the cup of a costly death, 
Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life. 
I die with my delight, before 

I hear what I would hear from thee ; 
Yet tell my name again to me, 
I would be dying evermore, 
So dying ever, Bleanore. 



'MY LIFE IS FULIy OF WEARY DAYS." 



My life is full of weary days, 

But good things have not kept aloof, 

Nor wander' d into other ways : 
I have not lack'd thy mild reproof, 

Nor golden largess of thy praise. 

And now shake hands across the brink 
Of that deep grave to which I go : 

Shake hands once more : I cannot sink 
So far — far down, but I shall know 
Thy voice, and answer from below. 



II. 



When in the darkness over me 

The four-handed mole shall scrape, 

Plant thou no dusky cypress-tree, 

Nor wreathe thy cap with doleful crape, 
But pledge me in the flowing grape. 

(250) 




"My life is full of weary days 



(251) 



252 " 3Iy Life is Full of Weary DaysJ*^ 

And when the sappy field and wood 
Grow green beneath the showery gray, 

And rugged barks begin to bud, 

And thro' damp holts new-flush'd with may, 
Ring sudden scritches of the jay. 

Then let wise Nature work her will, 
And on my clay her darnelgrow ; 

Come only, when the days are still, 
And at my headstone whisper low, 
And tell me if the woodbines blow» 



EARLY SONNETS. 



♦*♦ 



TO 



As when with downcast eyes we muse and brood, 

And ebb into a former life, or seem 

To lapse far back in some confused dream 

To states of mystical similitude ; 

If one but speaks or hems or stirs his chair, 

Bver the wonder waxeth more and more, 

So that we say, ' ' All this hath been before. 

All this hath been, I know not when or where." 

So, friend, when first I look'd upon your face, 

Our thought gave answer each to each, so true — 

Opposed mirrors each reflecting each — 

That tho' I knew not in what time or place, 

Methought that I had often met with you, 

And either lived in cither's heart and speech. 



(253) 



254 Early Sonnets. 



II. 
TO J. M. K. 

My hope and heart is with thee — thou wilt be 

A latter Luther, and a soldier-priest 

To scare church-harpies from the master's feast ; 

Our dusted velvets have much need of thee : 

Thou art no sabbath-drawler of old saws, 

Distill 'd from some worm-can ker'd homily ; 

But spurr'd at heart with fieriest energy 

To embattail and to wall about thy cause 

With iron-worded proof, hating to hark 

The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone 

Half God's good sabbath, while the worn-out clerk 

Brow-beats his desk below. Thou from a throne 

Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the dark 

Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark. 



Early Sonnets. 255 



III. 



Mink be the strength of spirit, full and free, 

Like some broad river rushing down alone, 

With the self-same impulse wherewith he was thrown 

From his loud fount upon the echoing lea : — 

Which with increasing might doth forward flee 

By town, and tower, and hill, and cape, and isle. 

And in the middle of the green salt sea 

Keeps his blue waters fresh for many a mile. 

Mine be the power which ever to its sway 

Will win the wise at once, and by degrees 

May into uncongenial spirits flow ; 

Ev'n as the warm gulf-stream of Florida 

Floats far away into the Northern seas 

The lavish growths of southern Mexico. 



256 Eafly Sonnets. 



IV. 

ALEXANDER. 

Warrior of God, whose strong right arm debased 

The throne of Persia, when her Satrap bled 

At Issus by the Syrian gates, or fled 

Beyond the Memmian naphtha-pits, disgraced 

For ever - thee (thy pathway sand-erased) 

Gliding with equal crowns two serpents led 

Joyful to that palm-planted fountain-fed 

Ammonian Oasis in the waste. 

There in a silent shade of laurel brown 

Apart the Chamian Oracle divine 

Shelter'd his unapproached mysteries : 

High things were spoken there, unhanded down ° 

Only they saw thee from the secret shrine 

Returning with hot cheek and kindled eyes. 



Early Sonnets. 257 



V. 
BUONAPARTE. 

Hk thought to quell the stubborn hearts of oak, 
Madman ! — to chain with chains, and bind with 

bands 
That island queen who sways the floods and lands 
From Ind to Ind, but in fair daylight woke, 
When from her wooden walls, — lit by sure hands, — 
With thunders, and with lightnings, and with 

smoke, — 
Peal after peal, the British battle broke, 
Ivulling the brine against the Coptic sands. 
We taught him lowlier moods, when Blsinore 
Heard the war moan along the distant sea, 
Rocking with shatter' d spars, with sudden fires 
Flamed over : at Trafalgar yet once more 
We taught him : late he learned humility 
Perforce, like those whom Gideon school' d with 

briers. 



258 Early Sonnets. 



VI. 

POIvAND. 

How long, O God, shall men be ridden down, 
And trampled under by the last and least 
Of men ? The heart of Poland hath not ceased 
To quiver, tho' her sacred blood doth drown 
The fields, and out of every smouldering town 
Cries to Thee, lest brute Power be increased, 
Till that o'ergrown Barbarian in the East 
Transgress his ample bound to some new crown : — 
Cries to thee, " Lord, how long shall these things be ' 
How long this icy-hearted Muscovite 
Oppress the region ?" Us, O Just and Good, 
Forgive, who smiled when she was torn in three ; 
Us, who stand now, when we should aid the right — 
A matter to be wept with tears of blood ! 



Early Sonnets. 



259 



VII. 

CarKSS'd or chidden by the slender hand, 

And singing airy trifles this or that, 

lyight Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand, 

And run thro' every change of sharp and flat ; 

And Fancy came and at her pillow sat, 

When Sleep had bound her in his rosy band. 

And chased away the still-recurring gnat. 

And woke her with a lay from fairy land. 

But now they live with Beauty less and less, 

For Hope is other Hope and wanders far. 

Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds ; 

And Fancy watches in the wilderness. 

Poor Fancy sadder than a single star, 

That sets at twilight in a land of reeds. 




'A SINGLE STAR, THAT SETS AT TWILIGHT IN A LAND 
OF REEDS.'' 



26o Early Sonnets. 



VIII. 

The form, the form alone is eloquent ! 

A nobler yearning never broke her rest 

Than but to dance and sing, be gaily drest, 

And win all eyes with all accomplishment : 

Yet in the whirling dances as we went, 

My fancy made me for a moment blest 

To find my heart so near the beauteous breast 

That once had power to rob it of content. 

A moment came the tenderness of tears, 

The phantom of a wish that once could move, 

A ghost of passion that no smiles restore — 

For ah ! the slight coquette, she cannot love, 

And if you kiss'd her feet a thousand years, 

She still would take the praise, and care no more. 



Early Sonnets. 261 



IX. 



Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to take the cast 
Of those dead lineaments that near thee 1 le ? 

sorrowest thou, pale Painter, for the past, 
In painting some dead friend from memory ? 
Weep on : beyond his object Love can last : 
His object lives : more cause to weep have I : 
My tears, no tears of love, are flowing fast, 
No tears of love, but tears that Love can die, 

1 pledge her not in any cheerful cup, 

Nor care to sit beside her where she sits — 
Ah pity — hint it not in human tones, 
But breathe it into earth and close it up 
With secret death for ever, in the pits 
Which some green Christmas crams with weary 
bones. 



262 Early Sonnets. 



If I were loved, as I desire to be, 

What is there in the great sphere of the earthy 

And range of evil between death and birth, 

That I should fear, — if I were loved by thee ? 

All the inner, all the outer world of pain 

Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert 

mine. 
As I have heard that, somewhere in the main, 
Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine. 
'Twere joy, not fear, claspt hand-in-hand with thee, 
To wait for death — mute — careless of all ills, 
Apart upon a mountain, tho' the surge 
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills 
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge 
Below us, as far on as eye could see. 




•If I WERE LOVED, AS I DESIRE TO BE. 



(263) 



264 Early Sonnets. 



XI. 

THE BRIDESMAID. 

Bridksmaid, ere the happy knot was tied, 
Thine eyes so wept that they could hardly see ; 
Thy sister smiled and said, * ' No tears for me ! 
A happy bridesmaid makes a happy bride." 
And then, the couple standing side by side, 
Ivove lighted down between tliem full of glee. 
And over his left shoulder laugh' d at thee. 

" O happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride," 
And all at once a pleasant truth I learn'd, 
For while the tender service made thee weep, 

1 loved thee for the tear thou couldst not hide, 
And prest thy hand, and knew the press return'd. 
And thought, ' ' My life is sick of single sleep : 

O happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride ! ' ' 



THE IvADY OF SHALOTT. 

PART I. 

On either side the river lie 
I/ong fields of barley and of rye, 




**The lady of shalott." 

That clothe the wold and meet the sky ; 
And thro' the field the road runs by 

(265) 



266 The Lady of Shalott. 

To many-tower' d Camelot ; 
And up and down the people go, 
Gazing where the lilies blow 
Round an island there below, 

The island of Shalott. 

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
lyittle breezes dusk and shiver 
Thro' the wave that runs for ever 
By the island in the river 

Flowing down to Camelot. 
Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 
Overlook a space of flowers. 
And the silent isle inibowers 

The Ivady of Shalott. 

By the margin, willow-veil'd, 
Slide the heavy barges trail'd 
By slow horses ; and unhail'd 
The shallop flitteth silken-sail' d 

Skimming down to Camelot : 
But who hath seen her wave her hand? 
Or at the casement seen her stand ? 
Or is she known in all the land, 

The Lady of Shalott? 



Only reapers, reaping early 

In among the bearded barley, ^ 

Hear a song that echoes cheerly < 

From the river winding clearly 
Down to towered Camelot : 



The Lady of Shalott. 267 

And by the moon the reaper weary, 
Piling sheaves in uplands airy, 
I/istening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy 
Lady of Shalott." 

PART II. 

ThKRE she weaves by night and day 
A magic web with colours gay. 
She has heard a whisper say, 
A curse is on her if she stay 

To look down to Camelot. 
She knows not what the curse may be. 
And so she weaveth steadily, 
And little other care hath she, 

The Lady of Shalott. 

And moving thro' a mirror clear 
That hangs before her all the year. 
Shadows of the world appear. 
There she sees the highway near 

Winding down to Camelot : 
There the river eddy whirls, 
And there the surly village-churls. 
And the red cloaks of market girls. 

Pass onward from Shalott. 

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 
An abbot on an ambling pad. 
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, 
Or long-hair' d page in crimson clad, 
Goes by to tower'd Camelot ; 



268 The Lady of Shalott. 

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue 
The knights come riding two and two : 
She hath no loyal knight and true, 
Thelvady of Shalott. 

But in her web she still delights 
To weave the mirror's magic sights, 
For often thro' the silent nights 
A funeral, with plumes and lights 

And music, went to Camelot : 
Or when the moon was overhead. 
Came two young lovers lately wed ; 
" I am half sick of shadows," said 

The I^ady of Shalott. 

PART III. 

A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves, 
He rode between the barley-sheaves. 
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, 
And flamed upon the brazen greaves 

Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd 
To a lady in his shield, 
That sparkled in the yellow field. 

Beside remote Shalott. 

The gemmy bridle glitter' d free. 
Like to some branch of stars we see 
Hung in the golden Galaxy. 
The bridle bells rang merrily 

As he rode down to Camelot 



i 
The Lady of Shalott. 269 1 



And ftom his blazoned baldric slung 
A mighty silver bugle hung, 
And as he rode his armour rung, 
Beside remote Shalott. 



All in the blue unclouded weather 
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, 
The helmet and the helmet-feather 
Burn'd like one burning flame together, 

As he rode down to Camelot. 
As often thro' the purple night, 
Below the starry clusters bright. 
Some bearded meteor, trailing light, 

Moves over still Shalott. 



His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd ; 
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode ; 
From underneath his helmet flow'd 
His coal-black curls as on he rode, 

As he rode down to Camelot. 
From the bank and from the river 
He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 
** Tirra lirra," by the river 

Sang Sir Ivancelot. 

She left the web, she left the loom, 
She made three paces thro' the room. 
She saw the water-lily bloom. 
She saw the helmet and the plume, 
She look'd down to Camelot. 



27o The Lady of Shalott. 

Out flew the web and floated wide ; 
The mirror crack'd from side to side ; 
" The curse is come upon me," cried 
The Lady of Shalott. 



PART IV. 

In the stormy east-wind straining, 
The pale yellow woods were waning, 
The broad stream in his banks complaining. 
Heavily the low sky raining 
Over tower' d Camelot ; 
Down she came and found a boat 
Beneath a willow left afloat. 
And round about the prow she wrote 
The Lady of Shalott. 

And down the river's dim expanse 
Like some bold seer in a trance, 
Seeing all his own mischance — 
With a glassy countenance 

Did she look to Camelot. 
And at the closing of the day 
She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; 
The broad stream bore her far away. 

The Lady of Shalott. 

Lying, robed in snowy white 

That loosely flew to left and right — 




V 



•^'^'^^k ^ > 



The mirror ceack'd from side to side." 



(271; 



272 The Lady of Shalott. 

The leaves upon her falling light — 
Thro' the noises of the night 

She floated down to Camelot : 
And as the boat-head wound along 
The willowy hills and fields among, 
They heard her singing her last song 

The Ladv of Shalott. 



Heard a carol, mournful, holy. 
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, 
Till her blood was frozen slowly, 
And her eyes were darken' d wholly 

Turn' d to tower'd Camelot. 
For ere she reach' d upon the tide 
The first house by the water-side, 
Singing in her song she died, 

The Ivady of Shalott. 



Under tower and balcony, 

By garden- wall and gallery, 

A gleaming shape she floated by, 

Dead-pale between the houses high, 

Silent into Camelot. 
Out upon the wharfs they came. 
Knight and burgher, lord and dame. 
And round the prow they read her name. 

The Lady of Shalott, 



The Lady of Shalott. 



273 



Who is this ? and what is here ? 
And in the lighted palace near 
Died the sound of royal cheer ; 
And they cross'd themselves for fear, 

All the knights at Camelot : 
But Lancelot mused a little space ; 
He said, "She has a lovely face ; 
God in his mercy lend her grace, 

The Lady of Shalott." 




THB TWO VOICES. 



A STii,!, small voice spake unto me, 
* ' Thou art so full of misery, 
Were it not better not to be ? '^ 

Then to the still small voice I said ; 
" IvCt me not cast in endless shade 
What is so wonderfully made." 

To which the voice did urge reply ; 

* * To-day I saw the dragon-fly 

Come from the wells where he did lie. 

** An inner impulse rent the veil 
Of his old husk : from head to tail 
Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. 

" He dried his wings : like gauze they grew ; 
Thro' crofts and pastures wet with dew 
A living flash of light he flew. ' ' 

I said, * * When first the world began. 
Young Nature thro' five cycles ran, 
And in the sixth she moulded man. 

(274) 



The Two Voices. 275 

" She gave him mind, the lordliest 
Proportion, and, above the rest. 
Dominion in the head and breast." 

Thereto the silent voice replied ; 

* ' Self-blinded are you by your pride : 

Ivook up thro' night : the world is wide. 

**This truth within thy mind rehearse, 

That in a boundless universe 

Is boundless better, boundless worse. 

" Think you this mould of hopes and fears 
Could find no statelier than his peers 
In yonder hundred million spheres ? " 

It spake, moreover, in my mind : 

** Tho' thou wert scatter'd to the wind. 

Yet is there plenty of the kind. " 

Then did my response clearer fall : 
" No compound of this earthly ball 
Is like another, all in all." 

To which he answered scoffingly ; 

" Good soul ! suppose I grant it thee, 

Who'll weep for thy deficiency ? 

" Or will one beam be less intense, 

When thy peculiar difference 

Is canceird in the world of sense ? " 



276 The Two Voices. 

I would have said, " Thou canst not know," 
But my full heart, that work'd below, 
Rain'd thro' my sight its overflow. 

Again the voice spake unto me : 
** Thou art so steep'd in misery, 
Surely 'twere better not to be. 

" Thine anguish will not let thee sleep. 

Nor any train of reason keep : 

Thou canst not think, but thou wilt weep." 

I said, * ' The years with change advance : 
If I make dark my countenance, 
I shut my life from happier chance. 

"Some turn the sickness yet might take, 
Bv'n yet." But he : '' What drug can make 
A wither' d palsy cease to shake ? " 

I wept, '* Tho' I should die, I know 
That all about the thorn will blow 
In tufts of ros)'-tinted snow ; 

" And men, thro' novel spheres of thought 
Still moving after truth long sought, 
Will learn new things when I am not." 

" Yet," said the secret voice, " some time, 
Sooner or later, will gray prime 
Make thy grass hoar with early rime. 



The Two Voices. 277 



" Not less swift souls that yearu for light, 
Rapt after Heaven's starry flight, 
Would sweep the tracts of day and night. 

** Not less the bee would range her cells, 
The furzy prickle fire the dells, 
The foxglove cluster dappled bells." 

I said that ' ' all the years invent ; 
Each month is various to present 
The world with some development. 

** Were this not well, to bide mine hour, 
Tho' watching from a ruin'd tower 
How grows the day of human power?" 

*' The highest-mounted mind," he said, 
** Still sees the sacred morning spread 
The silent summit overhead. 

*' Will thirty seasons render plain 
Those lonely lights that still remain, 
Just breaking over land and main ? 

*' Or make that morn, from his cold crowo. 
And crystal silence creeping down, 
Flood with full daylight glebe and town ? 

" Forerun thy peers, thy time, and let 

Thy feet, milleniums hence, be set 

In midst of knowledge, dream' d not yet. 



278 The Two Voices. 1 

** Thou hast not gain'd a real height, i 

Nor art thou nearer to the light, , 

Because the scale is infinite. 

*' 'Twere better not to breathe or speak, , 

Than cry for strength, remaining weak, ' 

And seem to find, but still to seek. 

"Moreover, but to seem to find j 

Asks what thou lackest, thought resign' d, | 

A healthy frame, a quiet mind." | 

I said, "When I am gone away, \ 

' He dared not tarry,' men will say, ! 

Doing dishonour to my clay." { 

\ 
" This is more vile," he made reply, \ 

" To breathe and loathe, to live and sigh, ! 

Than once from dread of pain to die. 

" Sick art thou — a divided will 

Still heaping on the fear of ill 

The fear of men, a coward still. \ 

' ' Do men love thee ? Art thou so bound | 

To men, that how thy name may sound 
Will vex thee lying underground ? 

"The memory of the wither'd leaf | 

In endless time is scarce more brief ; 

Than of the garner'd Autumn-sheaf. 



The Two Voices. 279 



* * Go, vexed Spirit, sleep in trust ; 
The right ear, that is fill'd with dust, 
Hears little of the false or just." 

**Hard task, to pluck resolve," I cried, 
" From emptiness and the waste wide 
Of that abyss, or scornful pride ! 

* ' Nay — rather yet that I could raise 
One hope that warm'd me in the days 
While still I yearn'd for human praise. 

" When, wide in soul and bold of tongue, 
Among the tents I paused and sung, 
The distant battle flash' d and rung. 

" I sung the joyful Paean clear, 
And, sitting, burnish'd without fear 
The brand, the buckler, and the spear — 

" Waiting to strive a happy strife, 
To war with falsehood to the knife, 
And not to lose the good of life — 

' ' Some hidden principle to move, 

To put together, part and prove. 

And mete the bounds of hate and love — 

" As far as might be, to carve out 
Free space for every human doubt, 
That the whole mind might orb about — 



28o The Two Voices. 

" To search thro' all I felt or saw, 
The springs of life, the depths of awe, 
And reach the law within the law : 

*' At least, not rotting like a weed. 
But, having sown some generous seed, 
Fruitful of further thought and deed, 

** To pass, when Life her light withdraws. 
Not void of righteous self-applause. 
Nor in a merely selfish cause — 

"And like a warrior overthrown." 

" In some good cause, not in mine own. 
To perish, wept for, honour'd, known, 
And like a warrior overthrown ; 

" Whose eyes are dim with glorious tears, 
When, soil'd with noble dust, he hears 
His country's war-song thrill his ears : 

" Then dying of a mortal stroke. 
What time the foeman's line is broke, 
And all the war is roU'd in smoke." 

*' Yea ! " said the voice, " thy dream was good. 
While thou abodest in the bud. 
It was the stirring of the blood. 




The Two Voices. 281 

— 5 

*' If Nature put not forth her power 
About the opening of the flower, 
Who is it that could live an hour ? 

* ' Then comes the check, the change, the fall, 
Pain rises up, old pleasures pall. 
There is one remedy for all. 

*' Yet hadst thou, thro* enduring pain, 
I/ink' d month to month with such a chain 
Of knitted purport, all were vain. 

*' Thou hadst not between death and birth 
Dissolved the riddle of the earth. 
So were thy labour little worth. 

"That men with knowledge merely play'd 
I told thee — hardly nigher made, 
Tho' scaling slow from grade to grade ; 

*' Much less this dreamer, deaf and blind. 
Named man, may hope some truth to find, 
That bears relation to the mind, 

*' For every worm beneath the moon 
Draws different threads, and late and soon 
Spins, toiling out his own cocoon. 

" Cry, faint not : either Truth is born 
Beyond the polar gleam forlorn, 
Or in the gateways of the morn. 



282 The Two Voices. ■ 

"Cry, faint not, climb : the summits slope ] 

Beyond the furthest flights of hope, ; 

Wrapt in dense cloud from base to cope. 

" Sometimes a little comer shines, 

As over rainy mist inclines 

A gleaming crag with belts of pines. \ 

I 

*'I will go forward, sayest thou, 

I shall not fail to find her now. \ 

Look up, the fold is on her brow. 



* * If straight thy track, or if oblique, 

Thou know'st not. Shadows thou dost strike. 

Embracing cloud, Ixion-like ; 

* ' And owning but a little more 
Than beasts, abidest lame and poor, 
Calling thyself a little lower 

" Than angels. Cease to wail and brawl ! 
Why inch by inch to darkness crawl ? 
There is one remedy for all." 

" O dull, one-sided voice," said I, 
"Wilt thou make everything a lie. 
To flatter me that I may die ? 

*' I know that age to age succeeds. 
Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, 
A dust of systems and of creeds. 



The Two Voices. 283 



*' I cannot hide that some have striven, 
Achieving calm, to whom was given 
The joy that mixes man with Heaven : 

' ' Who, rowing hard against the stream, 
Saw distant gates of Eden gleam. 
And did not dream it was a dream ; 

" But heard, by secret transport led, 
Ev'n in the charnels of the dead, 
The murmur of the fountain-head — 

' * Which did accomplish their desire. 
Bore and forbore, and did not tire. 
Like Stephen, an unquenched fire. 

" He heeded not reviling tones, 

Nor sold his heart to idle moans, 

Tho' cursed and scorn'd, and bruised with stones 

" But looking upward, full of grace. 
He pray'd, and from a happy place 
God's glory smote him on the face." 

The sullen answer slid betwixt 

" Not that the grounds of hope were fix'd, 

The elements were kindlier mix'd." 

I said, " I toil beneath the curse, 
But, knowing not the universe, 
I fear to slide from bad to worse. 



t 

i 

,\ 

I 

I 

284 Tke Two Voices, ; 

'* And that, in seeking to undo 

One riddle, and to find the true, j 

I knit a hundred others new : 

' ' Or that this anguish fleeting hence, i 

Unmanacled from bonds of sense, | 

Be fix'd and froz'n to permanence : i 

"For I go, weak from suffering here : j 

Naked I go, and void of cheer : J 

What is it that I may not fear ? " i 

"Consider well," the voice replied, \ 

" His face, that two hours since hath died ; ] 

Wilt thou find passion, pain or pride ? 

1 
" Will he obey when one commands ? 
Or answer should one press his hands ? ! 

He answers not, nor understands. 

" His palms are folded on his breast : 5 

There is no other thing express' d | 

But long disquiet merged in rest. \ 

i 
*' His lips are very mild and meek : 

Tho' one should smite him on the cheek, i 

And on the mouth, he will not speak. i 

** His little daughter, whose sweet face i 

He kiss'd, taking his last embrace, j 

Becomes dishonour to her race — - 1 



The Two Voices. 285 



" His sons grow up that bear his name, 
Some grow to honour, some to shame, — 
But he is chill to praise or blame. 

** He will not hear the north- wind rave, 
Nor, moaning, household shelter crave 
From winter rains that beat his grave. 




"Winter rains that beat his grave." 

** High up the vapours fold and swim : 
About him broods the twilight dim : 
The place he knew forgetteth him." 

**If all be dark, vague voice," I said, 

" These things are wrapt in doubt and dread, 

Nor canst thou show the dead are dead. 

* * The sap dries up : the plant declines. 

A deeper tale my heart divines. 

Know I not Death ? the outward signs ? 



286 The Two Voices. 

* ' I found him when my years were few ; 
A shadow on the graves I knew, 
And darkness in the village yew. 

" From grave to grave the shadow crept : 
In her still place the morning wept : 
Touch'd by his feet the daisy slept. 

"The simple senses crown'd his head : 
' Omega ! thou art Lord, ' they said, 

* We find no motion in the dead. ' 

' ' Why, if man rot in dreamless ease, 
Should that plain fact, as taught by these, 
Not make him sure that he shall cease ? 

* * Who forged that other influence. 
That heat of inward evidence, 

By which he doubts against the sense ? 

*' He owns the fatal gift of eyes, 
That read his spirit blindly wise, 
Not simple as a thing that dies. 

" Here sits he shaping wings to fly : 
His heart forebodes a mystery : 
He names the name Eternity. 

' ' That type of Perfect in his mind 
In Nature can he nowhere find. 
He sows himself on every wind. 



The Two Voices. 287 

' * He seems to hear a Heavenly Friend, 
And thro' thick veils to apprehend 
A labour working to an end. 

* ' The end and the beginning vex 
His reason : many things perplex, 
With motions, checks, and counterchecks. 

" He knows a baseness in his blood 

At such strange war with something good, 

He may not do the thing he would. 

** Heaven opens inward, chasms yawn. 
Vast images in glimmering dawn. 
Half shov/n, are broken and withdrawn. 

" Ah ! sure within him and without, 
Could his dark wisdom find it out. 
There must be answer to his doubt, 

" But thou canst answer not again. 
With thine own weapon art thou slain. 
Or thou wilt answer but in vain. 

" The doubt would rest, I dare not solve. 
In the same circle we revolve. 
Assurance only breeds resolve." 

As when a billow, blown against, 

Falls back, the voice with which I fenced 

A little ceased, but recommenced. 



288 The Two Voices. 

" "Where wert thou when thy father play'd 
In his free field, and pastime made, 
A merry boy in sun and shade ? 

" A merry boy they call'd him then, 
He sat upon the knees of men 
In days that nev* come again. 

" Before the little ducks began 

To feed thy bones with lime, and ran 

Their course, till thou wert also man : 

' ' Who took a wife, who rear'd his race. 
Whose wrinkles gather' d on his face, 
Whose troubles number with his days : 

" A life of nothings, nothing worth. 
From that first nothing ere his birth 
To that last nothing under earth ! ' ' 

** These words," I said, * ' are like the rest ; 
No certain clearness, but at best 
A vague suspicion of the breast : 

** But if I grant, thou mightst defend 
The thesis which thy words intend ^ — 
That to begin implies to end ; 

"Yet how should I for certain hold, 
Because my memory is so cold, 
That I first was in human mould? 



The Two Voices. 289 



" I cannot make this matter plain, 
But I would shoot, howe'er in vain, 
A random arrow from the brain. 

" It may be that no life is found, 
Which only to one engine bound 
Falls off, but cycles always round. 

"As old mythologies relate, 

Some draught of Lethe might await 

The slipping thro' from state to state. 

** As here we find in trances, men 
Forget the dream that happens then. 
Until they fall in trance again. 

" So might we, if our state were such 

As one before, remember much. 

For those two likes might meet and touch. 

" But, if I lapsed from nobler place. 
Some legend of a fallen race 
Alone might hint of my disgrace ; 

" Some vague emotion of delight 

In gazing up an Alpine height. 

Some yearning toward the lamps of night ; 

" Or if thro' lower lives I came — 
Tho' all experience past became 
Consolidate in mind and frame — 



290 The Two Voices. 

" I might forget my weaker lot ; 
For is not our first year forgot ? 
The haunts of memory echo not. 

" And men, whose reason long was blind, 
From cells of madness unconfined, 
Oft lose whole years of darker mind. 

"Much more, if first I floated free, 
As naked essence, must I be 
Incompetent of memory : 

** For memory dealing but with time, 
And he with matter, could she climb 
Beyond her own material prime ? 

** Moreover, something is or seems. 
That touches me with mystic gleams. 
Like glimpses of forgotten dreams — 

" Of something felt, like something here ; 
Of something done, I know not where ; 
Such as no language may declare." 

The still voice laugh'd. " I talk," said he, 
" Not with thy dreams. Suffice it thee 
Thy pain is a reality.*' 

" But thou," said I, "hast missed thy mark. 
Who sought'st to wreck my mortal ark. 
By making all the horizon dark. 



The Two Voices. 291 



" Why not set forth, if I should do 
This rashness, that which might ensue 
With this old soul in organs new ? 

" Whatever crazy sorrow saith. 

No life that breathes with human breath 

Has ever truly longd for death. 

*' 'Tis life, whereof our nerves are scant, 
Oh life, not death, for which we pant ; 
More life, and fuller, that I want." 

I ceased, and sat as one forlorn. 
Then said the voice, in quiet scorn, 
*' Behold, it is the Sabbath morn." 

And I arose, and I released 

The casement, and the light increased 

With freshness in the dawning east. 

Ivike soften 'd airs that blowing steal, 
When meres begin to uncongeal. 
The sweet church bells began to peal. 

On to God's house the people prest : 
Passing the place where each must rest, 
Bach enter' d like a welcome guest. 

One walk'd between his wife and child. 
With measured footfall firm and mild. 
And now and then he gravely smiled. 



292 The Two Voices. 

The prudent partner of his blood 
Ivean'd on him, faithful, gentle, good, 
Wearing the rose of womanhood. 

And in their double love secure, 
The little maiden walk'd demure, 
Pacing with downward eyelids pure. 

These three made unity so sweet, 
My frozen heart began to beat, 
Remembering its ancient heat. 

I blest them, and they wander'd on : 
I spoke, but answer came there none : 
The dull and bitter voice was gone. 

A second voice was at mine ear, 

A little whisper silver-clear, 

A murmur, " Be of better cheer." 

As from some blissful neighbourhood, 

A notice faintly understood, 

" I see the end, and know the good." 

A little hint to solace woe, 

A hint, a whisper breathing low, 

" I may not speak of what I know." 

I/ike an ^oliaii harp that wakes 

No certain air, but overtakes 

Far thought with music that it makes : 



The Two Voices. 293 



Such seetn'd the whisper at my side : 

"What is it thou knowest, sweet voice ?" I cried. 

'■'■ A hidden hope," the voice replied : 

So heavenly-toned, that in that hour 
From out my sullen heart a power 
Broke, like the rainbow from the shower. 

To feel, altho' no tongue can prove, 
That every cloud, that spreads above 
And veileth love, itself is love. 

And forth into the fields I went. 
And Nature's living motion lent 
The pulse of hope to discontent. 

I wonder'd at the bounteous hours, 
The slow result of winter showers : 
You scarce could see the grass for flowers. 

I wonder'd, while I paced along : 
The woods were fiU'd so full with song, 
There seem'd no room for sense of wrong ; 

And all so variously wrought, 

I marvell'd how the mind was brought 

To anchor by one gloomy thought ; 

And wherefore rather I made choice 
To commune with that barren voice, 
Than him that said, "Rejoice! Rejoice!"'' 



THE MIIvIvER'S DAUGHTER. 

I see; the wealthy miller yet, 

His double chin, his portly size, 
And who that knew him could forget 

The busy wrinkles round his eyes? 
The slow wise smile that, round about 

His dusty forehead drily curl'd, 
Seem'd half-within and half-without, 

And full of dealings with the world ? 

In yonder chair I see him sit. 

Three fingers round the old silver cup - 
I see his gray eyes twinkle yet 

At his own jest — gray eyes lit up 
With summer lightnings of a soul 

So full of summer warmth, so glad. 
So healthy, sound, and clear and whole. 

His memory scarce can make me sad. 

Yet fill my glass : give me one kiss : 

My own sweet Alice, we must die. 
There's somewhat in this world amiss 

Shall be unriddled by and by. 
There's somewhat flows to us in life. 

But more is taken quite away. 
Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife, 

That we may die the self-same day. 

(294) 




"In yonder chair i see him sit. 



(295) 



296 The Miller's Daughter. 

Have I not found a happy earth ? 

I least should breathe a thought of pain. 
Would God renew me from my birth 

I'd almost live my life again. 
So sweet it seems with thee to walk, 

And once again to woo thee mine — 
It seems in after-dinner talk 

Across the walnuts and the wine — 

To be the long and listless boy 

Late-left an orphan of the squire, 
Where this old mansion mounted high 

Looks down upon the village spire : 
For even here, where I and you 

Have lived and loved alone so long, 
Bach morn my sleep was broken thro' 

By some wild skylark's matin song. 

And oft I heard the tender dove 

In firry woodlands making moan ; 
But ere I saw your eyes, my love, 

I had no motion of my own. 
For scarce my life with fancy play'd 

Before I dreamed that pleasant dream — 
Still hither thither idly sway'd 

Like those long mosses in the stream. 

Or from the bridge I lean'd to hear 
The mill-dam rushing down with noise, 

And see the minnows everywhere 
In crystal eddies glance and poise, 



The Miller^ s Daughter. 297 

The tall flag-flowers when they sprung 
Below the range of stepping-stones, 

Or those three chestnuts near, that hung 
In masses thick with milky cones. 

But, Alice, what an hour was that. 

When after roving in the woods 
('Twas April then), I came and sat 

Below the chestnuts, when their buds 
Were glistening to the breezy blue ; 

And on the slope, an absent fool, 
I cast me down, nor thought of you, 

But angled in the higher pool. 

A love-song I had somewhere read. 

An echo from a measured strain, 
Beat time to nothing in my head 

From some odd comer of my brain. 
It haunted me, the morning long. 

With weary sameness in the rhymes, 
The phantom of a silent song. 

That went and came a thousand times. 

Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood 

I watched the little circles die ; 
They past into the level flood, 

And there a vision caught my eye ; 
The reflex of a beauteous form, 

A glowing arm, a gleaming neck. 
As when a sunbeam wavers warm 

Within the dark and dimpled beck. 



298 



The Miller'' s Daughter. 



For you remember, you had set, 
That morning, on the casement-edge 

A long green box of mignonette. 

And you were leaning from the ledge 




That morning, on the casement-edge." 



And when I raised my eyes, above 

They met with two so full and bright - 

Such eyes ! I swear to you, my love, 
That these have never lost their light. 



The Miller's Daughter. 299 

I loved, and love dispell'd the fear 

That I should die an early death : 
For love possess' d the atmosphere, 

And fiird the breast with purer breath. 
My mother thought, What ails the boy ? 

For I was alter'd, and began 
To move about the house with joy, 

And with the certain step of man. 

I loved the brimming wave that swam 

Thro' quiet meadows round the mill, 
The sleepy pool above the dam. 

The pool beneath it never still, 
The meal-sacks on the whitened floor, 

The dark round of the dripping wheel, 
The very air about the door 

Made misty with the floating meal. 

And oft in ramblings on the wold, 

When April nights began to blow. 
And April's crescent glimmer' d cold, 

I saw the village lights below ; 
I knew your taper far away, 

And full at heart of trembling hope, 
From off the wold I came, and lay 

Upon the freshly-flower'd slope. 

The deep brook groan 'd beneath the mill ; 

And ' ' by that lamp, ' ' I thought, ' * she sits ! ' ' 
The white chalk-quarry from the hill 

Gleam' d to the flying moon by fits. 



300 The Miller's Daughter. 

" O that I were beside her now ! 

O will she answer if I call ? 
O would she give me vow for vow, 

Sweet Alice, if I told her all ? " 

Sometimes I saw you sit and spin ; 

And, in the pauses of the wind, 
Sometimes I heard you sing within ; 

Sometimes your shadow cross' d the blind. 
At last you rose and moved the light. 

And the long shadow of the chair 
Flitted across into the night, 

And all the casement darken 'd there. 

But when at last I dared to speak. 

The lanes, you know, were white with May, 
Your ripe lips moved not, but your cheek 

Flush'd like the coming of the day ; 
And so it was — half-sly, half-shy. 

You would, and would not, little one ! 
Although I pleaded tenderly, 

And you and I were all alone. 

And slowly was my mother brought 

To yield consent to my desire : 
She wish'd me happy, but she thought 

I might have look'd a little higher ; 
And I was young — too young to wed : 

"Yet mvist I love her for yor-r sake ; 
Go fetch your Alice here," she said : 

Her eyelid quiver' d as she spake. 



The Miller* s Daughter. 30 c 



And down I went to fetch my bride : 

But, Alice, you were ill at ease ; 
This dress and that by turns you tried. 

Too fearful that you should not please. 
I loved you better for your fears, 

I knew you could not look but well ; 
And dews, that would have falPn in tears, 

I kiss'd away before they fell. 

I watch'd the little flutterings. 

The doubt my mother would not see ; 
She spoke at large of many things, 

And at the last she spoke of me ; 
And turning look'd upon your face. 

As near this door you sat apart. 
And rose, and, with a silent grace 

Approaching, press'd you heart to heart. 

Ah, well — but sing the foolish song 

I gave you, Alice, on the day 
When, arm in arm, we went along, 

A pensive pair, and you were gay 
"With bridal flowers — that I may seem. 

As in the nights of old, to lie 
Beside the mill-wheel in the stream, 

While those full chestnuts whisper by. 

It is the miller's daughter, 

And she is grown so dear, so dear. 
That I would be the jeweJ 

That trembles in her ear: 



302 



The Miller's Daughter. 




"It is the miller's 
daughter." 



For hid in ringlets day and night, 
I'd touch her neck so warm and 
white. 

And I would be the girdle 

About her dainty dainty waist, 
And her heart would beat against 
me, 
In sorrow and in rest : 
And I should know if it beat right, 
I'd clasp it round so close and 
tight. 



And I would be the necklace, 
And all day long to fall and rise 

Upon her balmy bosom, 
With her laughter or her sighs, 

And I would lie so light, so light, 

I scarce should be unclasp'd at night. 



A trifle, sweet ! which true love spells — 

True love interprets — right alone. 
His light upon the letter dwells, 

For all the spirit is his own. 
So, if I waste words now, in truth 

You must blame Love. His early rage 
Had force to make me rhyme in youth. 

And makes me talk too much in age. 



And now those vivid hours are gone. 
Like mine own life to me thou art, 



The Miller's Daughter. 303 

Where Past and Present, wound in one, 
Do make a garland for the heart : 

So sing that other song I made, 
Half-anger'd with my happy lot, 

The day, when in the chestnut shade 
I found the blue Forget-me-not. 



Love that hath us in the net. 
Can he pass, and we forget ? 
Many suns arise and set. 
Many a chance the years beget. 
Love the gift if Love the debt. 

Even so. 
Love is hurt with jar and fret. 
Love is made a vague regret. 
Eyes with idle tears are wet. 
Idle habit links us yet. 
What is love ? for we forget : 

Ah, no ! no ! 



Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wif^ 

Round my true heart thine arms entwine 
My other dearer life in life. 

Look thro' my very soul with thine ! 
Untouch'd with any shade of years. 

May those kind eyes for ever dwell ! 
They have not shed a many tears, 

Dear eyes, since first I knew them well. 



304 The Miller's Datighter. 

Yet tears they shed : they had their part 

Of sorrow : for when time was ripe, 
The still affection of the heart 

Became an outward breathing type, 
That into stillness past again. 

And left a want unknown before ; 
Although the loss had brought us pain. 

That loss but made us love the more. 

With farther lookings on. The kiss. 

The woven arms, seem but to be 
Weak symbols of the settled bliss, 

The comfort, I have found in thee : 
But that God bless thee, dear — who wrought 

Two spirits to one equal mind — 
With blessings beyond hope or thought. 

With blessings which no words can find. 

Arise, and let us wander forth, 

To yon old mill across the wolds ; 
For look, the sunset, south and north. 

Winds all the vale in rosy folds. 
And fires your narrow casement glass, 

Touching the sullen pool below : 
On the chalk-hill the bearded grass 

Is dry and dewless. Let us go. 



FATIMA. 

O, LovK, Love, Love ! O withering might ! 

sun, that from thy noonday height 
Shudderest when I strain my sight, 
Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light, . 

Lo, falling from my constant mind, 

Lo, parched and wither' d, deaf and blind, 

I whirl like leaves in roaring wind. 

Last night I wasted hateful hours 
Below the city's eastern towers : 

1 thirsted for the brooks, the showers : 
I roird among the tender flowers : 

I crushed them on my breast, my mouth ; 
I look'd athwart the burning drouth 
Of that long desert to the south. 

Last night, when some one spoke his name, 
From my swift blood that went and came 
A thousand little shafts of flame 
Were shiver' d in my narrow frame. . 
O Love, O fire ! once he drew 
With one long kiss my whole soul thro' 
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. 

(305) 




Below the city's eastern towers. 



(306) 



Fatima. 307 j 

__ _ . I 

Before he mounts the hill, I know | 

He Cometh quickly : from below ! 

Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow 1 

Before liim, striking on my brow. \ 

In my dry brain my spirit soon, i 

Down-deepening from swoon to swoon, | 

Faints like a dazzled morning moon. ^ 

The wind sounds like a silver wire, | 

And from beyond the noon a fire ! 
Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher 

The skies stoop down in their desire ; ■ 

And, isled in sudden seas of'light, 

My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, 

Bursts into blossom in his sight. I 

My whole soul waiting silently, 

All naked in a sultry sky, i 

Droops blinded with his shining eye : 

I will possess him or will die. j 

I will grow round him in his place, 1 

Grow, live, die looking on his face, ; 

Die, dying clasp'd in his embrace. j 



CE^NONB. 

There) lies a vale in Ida, lovelier 

Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. 

The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, 

Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, 

And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand 

The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down 

Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars 

The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine 

In cataract after cataract to the sea. 

Behind the valley topmost Gargarus 

Stands up and takes the morning : but in front 

The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal 

Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, 

The crown of Troas. 

Hither came at noon 
Mournful CEJnone, wandering forlorn 
Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. 
Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck 
Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest. 
She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, 
Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade 
Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff". 

"O mother Ida, many-fountain 'd Ida, 
Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 

(308) 



CEnone. 309 

For now the noonday quiet holds the hill : 
The grasshopper is silent in the grass : 
The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, 
Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead. 
The purple flower droops : the golden bee 
Is lily-cradled : I alone awake. 
My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love. 
My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, 
And I am all aweary of my life. 

** O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 
Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
Hear me, O Karth, hear me, O Hills, O Caves 
That house the cold crown'd snake ! O mountain 

brooks, 
I am the daughter of a River-God, 
Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all 
My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls 
Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, 
A cloud that gather' d shape : for it may be 
That, while I speak of it, a little while 
My heart may wander from its deeper woe. 

" O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 
Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
I waited underneath the dawning hills. 
Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, 
And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine : 
Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, 
Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved, 
Came up from reedy Simois all alone. 



3IO CEnone. 

' ' O mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
Far-ofF the torrent call'd me from the cleft : 
Far up the solitary morning smote 
The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes 
I sat alone : white breasted like a star 
Fronting the dawn he moved ; a leopard skin 
Droop 'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair 
Cluster' d about his temples like a God's : 
And his cheek brighten 'd as the foam-bow brightens 
When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart 
Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came. 

*' Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm 
Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold. 
That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd 
And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech 
Came down upon my heart. 

' My own C^none, 
Beautiful-brow'd CE^none, my own soul, 
Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n 
** For the most fair, ' ' would seem to award it thine, 
As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt 
The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace 
Of movement; and the charm of married brows. ' 

** Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, 
And added ' This was cast upon the board. 
When all the full-faced presence of the Gods 
Ranged in the halls of Peleus ; whereupon 



CEnone. 



311 




"With down-dropt eyes i sat alone." 

Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due 
But light-foot Iris brought it yester-e'^'e, 



I 

312 CEnone. \ 

Delivering, that to me, by common voice ■ 

Elected umpire. Here comes to-day, i 

Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each J 

This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave 1 

Behind yon whispering tufts of oldest pine, j 

Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard ' I 

Here all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.' \ 

" Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. '' 

It was the deep midnoon : one silvery cloud i 
Had lost his way between the piney sides 

Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, j 

Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, ] 

And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, \ 

Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, ^^ 

Ivotos and lilies : and a wind arose, \ 

And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, | 
This way and that, in many a wild festoon 
Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs 
With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro'. 

" O mother Ida, harken ere I die. 

On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, . i 

And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd : 

Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew. \ 
Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom 

Coming thro' Heaven, like a light that grows j 

Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods \ 
Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made 

Proffer of royal power, ample rule i 
Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue 

Wherewith to embellish state, * from many a vale 1 



CEnone. 313 

And river-sunder'd champaign clothed with corn, 
Or labour' d mine undrainable of ore. 
Honour,^ she said, ' and homage, tax and toll, 
From many an inland town and haven large, 
Mast-throng'd beneath her shadowy citadel 
In glassy bays among her tallest towers. ' 

" O mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
Still she spake on and still she spake of power, 
' Which in all action is the end of all ; 
Power fitted to the season ; wisdom-bred 
And throned of wisdom — from all neighbour crowns 
Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand 
Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, 
From me. Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-born, 
A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born, 
Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power 
Only, are likest gods, who have attained 
Rest in a happy place and quiet seats 
Above the thunder, with undying bliss 
In knowledge of their own supremacy.' 

*' Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit 
Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power 
Flatter'd his spirit ; but Pallas where she stood 
Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs 
O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear 
Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold. 
The while, above, her full and earnest eye 
Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek 
Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply. 



314 CEnone. 

** 'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, 
These three alone lead life to sovereign power. 
Yet not for power (power of herself 
Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law, 
Acting the law we live by without fear ; 
And, because right is right, to follow right 
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.' 

" Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
Again she said : ' 1 woo thee not with gifts. 
Sequel of guerdon could not alter me 
To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am. 
So shalt thou find me fairest. 

Yet, indeed, 
If gazing on divinity disrobed 
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair. 
Unbiased by self-profit, oh ! rest thee sure 
That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee. 
So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood. 
Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's, 
To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks, 
Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow 
Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will, 
Circled thro' all experiences, pure law, 
Commeasure perfect freedom. ' 

" Here she ceas'd 
And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, ' O Paris, 
Give it to Pallas ! ' but he heard me not. 
Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me ! 

" O mother Ida, many-fountain 'd Ida, 
Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 



CEnone. 315 ; 

Idalian Aphrodite beautiful, "i 

Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells> 

With rosy slender fingers backward drew 

From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair ! 

Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat 

And shoulder : from the violets her light foot ' 

Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form ] 

Between the shadows of the vine-bunches ; 

Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved. ! 

" Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. ' 
She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, 
The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh 
Half- whisper' d in his ear, * I promise thee 

The fairest and most loving wife in Greece,' | 
She spoke and laugh'd : I shut my sight for fear : 

But when I looked, Paris had raised his arm, ! 

And I beheld great Here's angry eyes, • : 

As she withdrew into the golden cloud, ! 

And I was left alone within the bower ; ■ 

And from that time to this I am alone, ■ 

And I shall be alone until I die. \ 

*' Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die. , 

Fairest — why fairest wife ? am I not fair ? ; 

My love hath told me so a thousand times. \ 

Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, \ 

When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, \ 

Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail | 
Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she ? 

Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms | 



3i6 



CEnone. 



Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest 
Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew 
Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains 
Flash in the pools of whirling Simois. 

" O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
They came, they cut away my tallest pines, 
My tall dark pines, that plumed the craggy ledge 







A WILD AND WANTON PARD, EYED LIKE THE EVENING STAR.' 



High over the blue gorge, and all between 
The snowy peak and snow-white cataract 
Foster' d the callow eaglet — from beneath 
Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark mom 
The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat 
Low in the valley. Never, never more 
Shall lone CBnone see the morning mist 
Sweep thro' them ; never see them overlaid 
With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud, 
Between the loud stream and the trembling stars. 



CEnone. 317 \ 

*' O mother, hear me yet before I die. \ 
I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds, 

Among the fragments tumbled from the glens, ] 

Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her 1 

The Abominable, that uninvited came ^ 

Into the fair Pele'ian banquet-hall, i 

And cast the golden fruit upon the board, 1 
And bred this change ; that I might speak my mind. 
And tell her to her face how much I hate 

Her presence, hated both of Gods and men. 1 

** O mother, hear me yet before I die. ' 

Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, 
In this green valley, under this green hill, 

Bv'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone? \ 

Seal'd it with kisses ? water' d it with tears ? ! 

O happy tears, and how unlike to these ! 

O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face ? ] 

O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight ? \ 

death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, * 
There are enough unhappy on this earth, \ 
Pass by the happy souls, that love to live : I 

1 pray thee, pass before my light of life, \ 
And shadow all my soul, that I may die. \ 
Thou weighest heavy on the heart wdthin, ] 
Weigh heavy on my eyelids : let me die. ^ i 

*' O mother, hear me yet before I die. . 

I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts 

Do shape themselves within me, more and more, ; 

Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear \ 



3i8 CEnone. 

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills, 

lyike footsteps upon wool. I dimly see 

My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother 

Conjectures of the features of her child 

Ere it is born : her child ! — a shudder comes 

Across me : never child be born of me, 

Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes ! 

' * O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, 
Ivcst their shrill happy laughter come to me 
Walking the cold and starless road of Death 
Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love 
With the Greek woman. I will rise and go 
Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth 
Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says 
A fire dances before her, and a sound 
Rings ever in her ears of armed men. 
What this may be I know not, but I know 
That, wheresoever I am by night and day, 
All earth and air seem only burning fire." 



THE SISTBRS. 

We were two daughters of one race : 
She was the fairest in the face : 
The wind is blowing in turret and tree. 




n 



" Upon my lap he laid his head.' 

They were together, and she fell ; 
Therefore revenge became me well. 
O the Karl was fair to see ! 

(319) 



320 The Sisters. 



She died : she went to burning flame : 
She mix'd her ancient blood with shame. 

The wind is howling in turret and tree. 
Whole weeks and months, and early and late, 
To win his love I lay in wait : 

O the Barl was fair to see ! 



I made a ffeast ; I bad him come ; 
I won his love, I brought him home. 

The wind is roaring in turret and tree. 
And after supper, on a bed, 
Upon my lap he laid his head : 

O the Barl was fair to see ! 



I kiss'd his e5'^elids into rest : 
His ruddy cheek upon my breast. 

The wind is raging in turret and tree. 
I hated him with the hate of hell. 
But I loved his beauty passing well. 

O the Barl was fair to see ! 



I rose up in the silent night : 

I made my dagger sharp and bright. 

The wind is raving in turret and tree. 
As half-asleep his breath he drew, 
Three times I stabb'd him thro' and thro'. 

O the Barl was fair to see ! 



The Sisters. 321 

I curl'd and comb'd his comely head, 
He look'd so grand when he was dead. 

The wind is blowing in turret and tree. 
I wrapt his body in the sheet, 
And laid him at his mother's feet. 

O the Karl was fair to see ! 



TO . 

WITH THE FOI^LOWING POKM. 

I SEND you here a sort of allegory, 

(For you will understand it) of a soul, 

A sinful soul possessed of many gifts, 

A spacious garden full of flowering weeds, 

A glorious Devil, large in heart and brain, 

That did love Beauty only, (Beauty seen 

In all varieties of mould and mind) 

And Knowledge for its beauty ; or if Good, 

Good only for its beauty, seeing not 

That Beauty, Good, and Knowledge, are three sisters 

That doat upon each other, friends to man, 

lyiving together under the same roof. 

And never can be sunder' d without tears. 

And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be 

Shut out from lyove, and on her threshold lie 

Howling in outer darkness. Not for this 

Was common clay ta'en from the common earth 

Moulded by God, and temper'd with the tears 

Of angels to the perfect shape of man. 



(332) 



THE PAIvACE OF ART. 

I BUiiyT my soul a lordly pleasure-house, 

Wherein at ease for aye to dwell. 
I said, " O Soul, make merry and carouse, 
Dear soul, for all is well." 

A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish' d brass 

I chose. The ranged ramparts bright 
From level meadow-bases of deep grass 
Suddenly scaled the light. 

Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf 

The rock rose clear, or winding stair. 
My soul would live alone unto herself 
In her high palace there. 

And "while the world runs round and round," I 
said, 
* * Reign thou apart, a quiet king. 
Still as, while Saturn whirls, his stedfast shade 
Sleeps on his luminous ring." 

To which my soul made answer readily : 

" Trust me, in bliss I shall abide 
Jn this great mansion, that is built for me, 
So royal-rich and wide." 



(325) 



324 The Palace of Art. 



Four courts I made, Kast, West and South and 1 

North, I 

In each a squared lawn, wherefrom • 

The golden gorge of dragons spouted forth ^ 

A flood of fountain-foam. \ 



And round the cool green courts there ran a row ] 

Of cloisters, branch 'd like mighty woods, I 

Echoing all night to that sonorous flow • 

Of spouted fountain-floods. ', 

And round the roofs a gilded gallery | 

That lent broad verge to distant lands, i 

Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky ; 
Dipt down to sea and sands. 

From those four jets four currents in one swell \ 

Across the mountain stream'd below \ 
In misty folds, that floating as they fell 
lyit up a torrent-bow. 

And high on every peak a s' atue seem'd \ 

To hang on tiptoe, tossing up \ 

A cloud of incense of all odour steam'd \ 

From out a golden cup. i 

So that she thought, ' ' And who shall gaze upon I 

My palace with unblinded eyes, \ 

While this great bow will waver in the sun, l 
And that sweet incense rise ? ■" 



The Palace of Art. 325 

For that sweet incense rose and never fail'd, 
And, while day sank or mounted higher, 
. The light aerial gallery, golden-rail'd, 
Burnt like a fringe of fire. 

Likewise the deep-set windows, stain' d and traced 

Would seem slow-flaming crimson fires 
From shadow'd grots of arches interlaced, 
And tipt with frost-like spires. 



Full of long-sounding corridors it was. 

That over-vaulted grateful gloom, 
Thro' which the liveloag day my soul did pass. 
Well-pleased, from room to room. 

Full of great rooms and small the palace stood. 

All various, each a perfect whole 
From living Nature, fit for every mood 
And change of my still soul. 

For some were hung with arras green and blue, 

Showing a gaudy summer-morn, 
Where with puff'd cheek the belted hunter blew 
His wreathed bugle-horn. 

One seem"d all dark and red — a tract of sand, 

And some one pacing there alone, 
Who paced for ever in a glimmering land, 
Lit with a low large moon. 



326 



The Palace of Art. 



One showd an iron coast and angry waves. 
You seem'd to hear them climb and fall 
And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves, 
Beneath the windy wall. 

And one, a fuU/ed river winding slow 

By herds upon an endless plain. 
The ragged rims of thunder brooding low, 
With shadow-streaks of rain. 




"A TRACT OF SAND, AND SOME ONE PACING THERE 
ALONE." 



And one, the reapers at their sultry toil . 

In front they bound the sheaves. Behind 
Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil. 
And hoary to the wind. 



And one a foreground black with stones and slags, 

Beyond, a line of heights, and higher 
All barr'd with long white cloud the scornful crags, 
And highest, snow and fire. 



The Palace of Art. 327 



And one, an English home — gray twilight pour'd 

On dewy pastures, dewy trees, 
Softer than sleep — all things in order stored, 
A haunt of ancient Peace. 

Nor these alone, but every landscape fair, 

As fit for every mood of mind, 
Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there 
Not less than truth design'd. 



Or the maid-mother by a crucifix. 
In tracts of pasture sunny-warm, 
Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx 
Sat smiling, babe in arm. 

Or in a clear- wall 'd city on the sea, 
Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair 
Wound with white roses, slept St. Cecily ; 
An angel look'd at her. 

Or thronging all one porch of Paradise 

A group of Houris bow'd to see 
The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes 
That said. We wait for thee. 

Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son 

In some fair space of sloping greens 
Lay, dozing in the vale of Avalon, 
And watch'd by weeping queens. 



328 The Palace of Art. 

Or hollowing one hand against his ear 

To list a foot-fall, ere he saw 
The wood-nymph, stay'd the Aiisonian king to hear 
Of wisdom and of law. 

Or over hills with peaky tops engrail' d. 

And many a tract of palm and rice, 
The throne of Indian Cama slowly sail'd 
A summer fann'd with spice. 

Or sweet Buropa's mantle blew unclasp' d, 
From off her shoulder backward borne : 
From one hand droop'd a crocus : one hand grasp'd 
The mild bull's golden horn. 

Or else flush' d Ganymede, his rosy thigh 

Half-buried in the Eagle's down, 
Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky 
Above the pillar' d town. 

Nor these alone : but every legend fair 
Which the supreme Caucasian mind 
Carved out of Nature for itself, was there, 
Not less than life, designed. 



Then in the towers I placed great bells that swung, 

Moved of themselves, with silver sound ; 
And with choice paintings of wise men I hung 
The royal dais round. 



] 



The Palace of Art. 329 

For there was Milton like a seraph strong, 

Beside him Shakespeare bland and mild ; 
And there the world-worn Dante grasp' d his song, 
And somewhat grimly smiled. 

And there the Ionian father of the rest ; 

A million wrinkles carved his skin ; 
A hundred winters snow'd upon his breast, 
From cheek and throat and chin. 




" A BEAST OF BURDEN SLOW." 

Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately -set 

Many an arch high up did lift. 
And angels rising and descending met 
With interchange of gift. 

Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd 

With cycles of the human tale 
Of this wide world, the times of every land 
So wrought, they will not fail. 



330 The Palace of Art. 

The people here, a beast of burden slow, 

Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and stings ; 
Here play'd a tiger, rolling to and fro 
The heads and crowns of kings ; 



Here rose an athlete, strong to break or bind 

All force in bonds that might endure, 
And here once more like some sick man declined, 
And trusted any cure. 

But over these she trod : and those great bells 

Began to chime. She took her throne : 
She sat betwixt the shining Oriels, 
To sing her songs alone. 

And thro' the topmost Oriels' coloured flame 

Two godlike faces gazed below ; 
Plato the wise, and large-brow' d Verulam, 
The first of those who know. 

And all those names, that in their motion were 

Full-welling fountain-heads of change. 
Betwixt the slender shafts were blazon'd fair 
In divers raiment strange : 

Thro' which the lights, rose, amber, emerald, blue, 

Flush'd in her temples and her eyes. 
And from her lips, as mom from Memnon, drew 
Rivers of melodies. 



The Palace of Art. 331 

No nightingale delighteth to prolong j 

Her low preamble all alone, I 

More than my soul to hear her echoed song . 

Throb thro' the ribbed stone ; j 

Singing and murmuring in her feastful mirth, 

Joying to feel herself alive, 
I/ord over Nature, I^ord of the visible earth, 
Ivord of the senses five ; 

Communing with herself: *' All these are mine, 

And let the world have peace or wars, ' 

'Tis one to me." She — when young night divine '■- 

Crown'd dying day with stars, 

! 
Making sweet close of his delicious toils — j 

Lit light in wreaths and anadems, ] 

And pure quintessences of precious oils \ 

In hollow'd moons of gems. 

To mimic Heaven ; and clapt her hands and cried, '■ 

* ' I marvel if my still delight \ 

In this great house so royal-rich, and wide, j 

Be flatter' d to the height. j 

"0 all things fair to sate my various eyes ! \ 

shapes and hues that please me well ! ; 
O silent faces of the Great and Wise, 

My Gods, with whom I dwell ! ] 

I 
" O God-like isolation which art mine, 

1 can but count thee perfect gain , j 
What time I watch the darkening droves of swine . \ 

That range on yonder plain. 



332 Th-e Palace of Art. 

*' In filthy sloughs they roll a prurient skin, 

They graze and wallow, breed and sleep ; 
And oft some brainless devil enters in, 
And drives them to the deep." 

Then of the mortal instinct would she prate 

And of the rising from the dead, 
As hers by right of full-accomplish' d Fate ; 
And at the last she said : 

**I take possession of man's mind and deed. 

I care not what the sects may brawl. 
I sit as God holding no form of creed, 
But contemplating all." 



Full oft the riddle of the painful earth 

Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone, 
Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth, 
And intellectual throne. 

And so she throve and prosper d : so three years 

She prospered : on the fourth she fell, 
Ivike Herod, when the shout was in his ears. 
Struck thro' with pangs of hell. 

Lest she should fail and perish utterly, 

God, before whom ever lie bare 
The abysmal deeps of Personality, 
Plagued her with sore despair. 



The Palace of Art. 333 

When she would think, where'er she turned her 
sight 
The airy hand confusion wrought, 
Wrote, " Mene, mene," and divided quite 
The kingdom of her thought. 

Deep dread and loathing of her solitude 

Fell on her, from which mood was born 
Scorn of herself, again, from out that mood 
Laughter at her self-scorn. 

"What! is not this my place of strength," she 
said, 
" My spacious mansion built for me. 
Whereof the strong foundation-stones were laid 
Since my first memory ? " 

But in dark corners of her palace stood 

Uncertain shapes ; and unawares 
On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears of blood, 
And horrible nightmares, 

And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame. 

And, with dim fretted foreheads all. 
On corpses three-months-old at noon she came, 
That stood against the wall. 

A spot of dull stagnation, without light 

Or power of movement, seem'd my soul, 
'Mid onward-sloping motions infinite 
Making for one sure goal. 



334 The Palace of Art. \ 

A still salt pool, locked in with bars of sand, \ 

Ivcft on the shore ; that hears all night j 

The plunging seas draw backward from the land \ 

Their moon-led waters white. i 

A star that with the choral starry dance - i 

Join'd not, but stood, and standing saw 

The hollow orb of moving Circumstance 1 
Roird round by one fix'd law. 



Back on herself her serpent pride had curl'd. \ 

" No voice," she shrieked in that lone hall, I 

*' No voice breaks thro' the stillness of this world : \ 

One deep, deep silence all ! " | 

She, mouldering with the dull earth's mouldering ! 

sod, ' 

In wrapt tenfold in slothful shame, ; 

Lay there exiled from eternal God, ' 

lyost to her place and name ; ] 



And death and life she hated equally, 

And nothing saw, for her despair, 
But dreadful time, dreadful eternity, 
No comfort anywhere ; 

Remaining utterly confused with fears, 

And ever worse with growing time. 
And ever unrelieved by dismal tears, 
And all alone in crime : 



^ 



The Palace of Art. 335 

Shut up as in a trembling tomb, girt round 

With blackness as a solid wall, 
Far off she seem'd to hear the dully sound 
Of human footsteps fall. 

As in strange lands a traveller walking slow. 

In doubt and great perplexity, 
A little before moon-rise hears the low 
Moan of an unknown sea ; 

And knows not if it be thunder, or a sound 

Of rocks thrown down, or one deep cry 
Of great wild beasts ; then thinketh, " I have found 
A new land, but I die." 

She howl'd aloud, * ' I am on fire within. 

There comes no murmur of reply. 
What is it that will take away my sin, 
And save me lest 1 die ? " 

So when four years were wholly finished 

She threw her royal robes away. 
" Make me a cottage in the vale," she said, 

" Where I may mourn and pray. 

** Yet pull not down my palace towers, that are 

So lightly, beautifully built : 
Perchance I may return with others there 
When I hive purged my guilt." 



IvADY CIvARA VERB DK VERK. , 

i 

IvADY Clara Vere de Vere, i 

Of me you shall not win renown : i 

You thought to break a country heart j 

For pastime, ere you went to town. \ 

At me you smiled, but unbeguiled ' 

I saw the snare, and I retired : i 
The daughter of a hundred Earls, 

You are not one to be desired. 

I^ady Clara Vere de Vere, ] 

I know you proud to bear your name, \ 

Your pride is yet no mate for mine, ' 

Too proud to care from whence I came. 

Nor would I break for your sweet sake i 

A heart that doats on truer charms. ; 

A simple maiden in her flower 

Is worth a hundred coats -of-arms. 

■I 

i 

lyady Clara Vere de Vere, ; 

Some meeker pupil you must find, i 

For were you queen of all that is, j 

I could not stoop to such a mind. | 

You sought to prove how I could love, j 

And my disdain is my reply. i 

(336) ! 







"Are there no beggars at your gate?" 

•337) 



338 Lady Clara Vere de Vere. 

The lion on your old stone gates 
Is not more cold to you than I. 

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 

You put strange memories in my head. 
Not thrice your branching limes have blown 

Since I beheld young Laurence dead. 
Oh your sweet eyes, your low replies : 

A great enchantress you may be ; 
But there was that across his throat 

Which you had hardly cared to see. 

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 

When thus he met his mother's view, 
She had the passions of her kind. 

She spake some certain truths of you. 
Indeed I heard one bitter word 

That scarce is fit for you to hear ; 
Her manners had not that repose 

Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. 

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 

There stands a spectre in your hall : 
The guilt of blood is at your door : 

You changed a wholesome heart to gall. 
You held your course without remorse. 

To make him trust his modest worth, 
And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare. 

And slew him with your noble birth. 

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, 

From yon blue Heavens above us bent 



Lady Clara Vere de Vere. 339 

The gardener Adam and his wife 
Smile at the claims of long descent, 

Howe' er it be, it seems to me, 
'Tis only noble to be good. 

Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
And simple faith than Norman blood. 

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, 

You pine among your halls and towers : 
The languid light of your proud eyes 

Is wearied of the rolling hours. 
In glowing health, with boundless wealth. 

But sickening of a vague disease. 
You know so ill to deal with time, 

You needs must play such pranks as these, 

Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, 

If time be heavy on your hands, 
Are there no beggars at your gate. 

Nor any poor about your lands ? 
Oh ! teach the orphan-boy to read, 

Or teach the orphan-girl to seW; 
Pray Heaven for a human heart, 

And let the foolish yeoman go. 



THK MAY QUBBN. 

You must wake and call me early, call me early, 

mother dear ; 
To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad 

New-year ; 
Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest 

merriest day ; 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 

Queen o' the May. 

There's many a black black eye, they say, but none 
so bright as mine ; 

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caro- 
line : 

But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they 
say, 

So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 
Queen o' the May. 

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never 

wake. 
If you do not call me loud when the day begins to 

break : 
But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and 

garlands gay, 

(340) 



The May Queen. 341 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 
Queen o' the May. 



As I came up the valley whom think ye should I 
see, 

But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel- 
tree? 

He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him 
yesterday. 

But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 
Queen o' the May. 



He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in 

white, 
And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of 

light. 
They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they 

say, 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 

Queen o' the May. 



They say he's dying all for love, but that can never 

be: 
They say his heart is breaking, mother — what is 

that to me ? 
There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer 

day, 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 

Queen o' the May. 



342 The May Queen. 

Little Bffie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, 
And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made 

the Queen ; 
For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from 

far away, 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 

Queen o' the May. 



The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its 

wavy bowers. 
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet 

cuckoo-flowers ; 
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in 

swamps and hollows gray. 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 

Queen o' the May, 



The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the 

meadow-grass. 
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten 

as they pass ; 
There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the 

livelong day. 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 

Queen o' the May. 

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and 

still. 
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the 

hill, 



The May Queen. 343 



And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance 

and play, 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 

Queen o' the May. 

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, 
mother dear, 

To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad 
New-year : 

To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merri- 
est day, 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be 
Queen o' the May. 



NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 

If you Ye waking call me early, call me early, 

mother dear. 
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year. 
It is the last New-year that I shall ever see, 
Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no 

more of me. 



To-night I saw the sun set : he set and left behind 
The good old year, the dear old time, and all my 

peace of mind ; 
And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall 

never see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the 

tree. 



Last IN^ay we made a crown of flowers : we had a 

merry day ; 
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me 

Queen of May ; 
And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel 

copse, 
Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white 

chimney-tops. 

(344) 



New-Year's Eve. 345 

There's not a flower on all the hills : the frost is on 

the pane : 
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again : 
I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out 

on high : 
I long to see a flower so before the day I die. 

The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm- 
tree, 

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, 

And the swallow '11 come back again with summer 
o'er the wave. 

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering 
grave. 

Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of 

mine, 
In the early early morning the summer sun 'ill shine, 
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the 

hill. 
When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the 

world is still. 

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the 
waning light 

You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at 
night ; 

When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow 
cool 

On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bul- 
rush in the pool. 



346 New-Year's Eve. 



You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the haw- 
thorn shade, 

And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am 
lowly laid. 

I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you 
when you pass, 

With your feet above my head in the long and 
pleasant grass. 

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive 
me now ; 

You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere 
I go; 

Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be 
wild. 

You should not fret for me, mother, you have an- 
other child. 

If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my rest- 
ing-place ; 

Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon 
your face ; 

Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall harken what 
you say, 

And be often, often with you when you think I'm 
far away. 

Goodnight, goodnight, when I have said goodnight 

for evermore. 
And you see me carried out from the threshold of 

the door ; 



New-Year's Eve. 347 

Don't let Bffie come to see me till my grave be 

growing green : 
Shell be a better child to you than ever I have been. 

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor : 

lyCt her take 'em : they are hers : I shall never gar- 
den more : 

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rosebush 
that I set 

About the parlour- window and the box of mignon- 
ette. 

Goodnight, sweet mother : call me before the day 
is born. 

All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn ; 

But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New- 
year. 

So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother 
dear. 



CONCIvUSION. 

I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I am , 
And in fields all around I hear the bleating of the 

lamb. 
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the 

year ! 
To die before the snowdrop came, and now the 

violefs here. 

O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the 

skies. 
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that 

cannot rise. 
And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers 

that blow, 
And sweeter far is death than life to me that long 

to go. 

It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the 
blessed sun, 

And now it seems as hard to stay, and yet His will 
be done ! 

But still I think it can't be long before I find re- 
lease ; 

And that good man, the clergyman, has told me 
words of peace. 

(348) 




. 











(349) 



350 Conclusio7i. 



O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver 

hair ! 
And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet 

me there ! 
O blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver 

head ! 
A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside 

my bed. 

He taught me all the mercy, for he show'd me all 

the sin. 
Now, tho' my lamp was lighted late, there's One 

will let me in : 
Nor would I now be well, mother, again if that 

could be, 
For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for 

me. 



I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death- 
watch beat. 

There came a sweeter token when the night and 
morning meet : 

But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand 
in mine. 

And Bffie on the other side, and I will tell the sign. 

All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels 

call ; 
It was when the moon was setting, and the dark ' 

was over all ; 



Conclusion. 35 ^ 



The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to 

roll, 
And in the wild March-morning I heard them call 

my soul. 

For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie 

dear ; 
I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer 

here ; 
With all my strength I pray'd for both, and so I 

felt resign' d. 
And up the valley came a swell of music on the 

wind. 



I thought that it was fanc}^ and I listen 'd in my 

bed, 
And then did something speak to me — I know not 

what was said ; 
For great delight and shuddering took hold of all 

my mind, 
And up the valley came again the music on the 

wind. 



But you were sleeping ; and I said, "It's not for 
them : it's mine." 

And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for 
a sign. 

And once again it came, and close beside the win- 
dow-bars. 

Then seem'd to go right up to Heaven and die 
among the stars. 



352 Conclusion. 



So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I 

know 
The blessed music went that way my soul will have 

to ga. 
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day. 
But, Kffie, you must comfort her when I am past 

away. 

And say to Robin a kind word, and^tell him not to 

fret ; 
There's many a worthier than I, would make him 

happy yet. 
If I had lived — I cannot tell — I might have been 

his wife ; 
But all these things have ceased to be, with my 

desire of life. 



O look ! the sun begins to rise, the Heavens are in 

a glow ; 
He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I 

know. 
And there I move no longer now, and there his 

light may shine — 
Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than 

mine. 



O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this 

day is done 
The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond 

the sun — 



Conclusion. 353 



For ever and for ever with those just souls and 

true — 
And what is life, that we should moan ? why make 

we such ado ? 

For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home — 
And there to wait a little while till you and Bffie 

come — 
To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your 

breast — 
And the wicked cease from troubling, and the 

weary are at rest. 



THB LOTOS-EATERS. 

" Courage) ! " he said, and pointed toward the land, 
"This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." 
In the afternoon they came unto a land 
In which it seemed always afternoon. 
All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. 
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; 
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream 
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. 



A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, 

Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; 

And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, 

Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. 

They saw the gleaming river seaward flow 

From the inner land : far off, three mountain-tops. 

Three silent pinnacles of aged snow. 

Stood sunset-flush'd : and, dew'd with showery 

drops, 
Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. 

(354) 



The Lotos-Eaters. 



355 



The charmed sunset linger'd low adown 

In the red West : thro' mountain clefts the dale 

Was seen far inland, and the yellow do\yn 

Border'd with palm, and many a winding vale 

And meadow, set with slender galingale ; 

A land where all things always seem'd the same ! 

And round about the keel with faces pale. 

Dark faces pale against that rosy flame. 

The mild-eyed melancholy I^otos-eaters came. 







Three silent pinnacles of aged snow." 



Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, 
Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave 
To each, but whoso did receive of them, 
And taste, to him the gushing of the wave 
Far far away did seem to mourn and rave 
On alien shores ; and if his fellow spake, 
His voice was thin, as voices from the grave ; 
And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake, 
And music in his ears his beating heart did make. 



356 The Lotos-Eaters. 

They sat them down upon the yellow sand, 
Between the sun and moon upon the shore ; 
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, 
Of child, and wife, and slave ; but evermore 
Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar, 
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. 
Then some one said, " We will return no more ; " 
And all at once they sang, " Our Island home 
Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam." 



The Lotos-Eaters. 357 



CHORIC SONG. 



I. 



There is sweet music here that softer falls 

Than petals from blown roses on the grass, 

Or night-dews on still waters between walls 

Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; 

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies. 

Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes ; 

Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful 

skies. 
Here are cool mosses deep, 
And thro" the moss the ivies creep, 
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep. 
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 



II. 



Why are we weigh' d upon with heaviness, | 

And utterly consumed with sharp distress, ^ 

While all things else have rest from weariness ? j 

All things have rest : why should we toil alone. 

We only toil who are the first of things, j 

And make perpetual moan, ! 

Still from one sorrow to another thrown : j 

Nor ever fold our wings. 
And cease from wanderings. 



358 * The Lotos- Eaters. 

Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm ; 
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, 
" There is no joy but calm \ '* 

Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of 
thinsfs? 



III. 



Lo ! in the middle of the wood, 

The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud 

With winds upon the branch, and there 

Grows green and broad, and takes no care. 

Sun-steep' d at noon, and in the moon 

Nightly dew-fed ; and turning yellow 

Falls, and floats adown the air. 

IvO ! sweeten'd with the summer light. 

The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow. 

Drops in a silent autumn night. 

All its allotted length of days, 

The flower ripens in its place. 

Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil. 

Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. 



IV. 



Hateful is the dark blue sky, 

Vaulted o'er the dark blue-sea. 

Death is the end of life ; ah, why 

Should life all labour be ? 

Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, 

And in a little while our lips are dumb. 



The Lotos-Eaters. 



359 



Let us alone. What is it that will 

last? 
All things are taken from ns, and 

become 
Portions and parcels of the dreadful 

Past. 
Let us alone. What pleasure can 

we have 
To war with evil? Is there any 

peace 
In ever climbing up the climbing 

wave ? 
All things have rest, and ripen 

toward the grave 
In silence ; ripen, fall and cease : 
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful 
ease. 




' Death is the 

LIFE." 



How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream. 

With half-shut eyes ever to seem 

Falling asleep in a half-dream ! 

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, 

Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height ; 

To hear each other's whisper ""d speech ; 

Bating the Lotos day by day, 

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, 

And tender curving lines of creamy spray ; 

To lend our hearts and spirits wholly 

To the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; 



360 The Lotos-Eaters. 

To muse and brood and live again in memory, 

With those old faces of our infancy 

Heap'd over with a mound of grass, 

Two haadfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass ! 



VI. 



Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, j 

And dear the last embraces of our wives 1 

And their warm tears : but all hath suffer'd change : 

For surely now our household hearths are cold : 

Our sons inherit us : our looks are strange : '■ 

And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. \ 

Or else the island princes over-bold 

Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings i 

Before them of the ten years' war in Troy, 

And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. 

Is there confusion in the little isle ? 

IvCt what is broken so remain. j 

The Gods are hard to reconcile : j 

'Tis hard to settle order once again. 

There is confusion worse than death, ; 

Trouble on trouble, pain on pain. 

Long labour unto aged breath, \ 

Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars \ 

And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. \ 



The Lotos-Eaters. 361 



VII. 



But propt on beds of amaranth and moly, 
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) 
With half-dropt eyelid still, 
Beneath a Heaven dark and holy, 
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly 
His waters from the purple hill — 
To hear the dewy echoes calling 
From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine — 
To watch the emerald-colour' d water falling 
Thro' many a wov'n acanthus- wreath divine ! 
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine. 
Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the 
pine. 



VIII. 



The lyotos blooms below the barren peak : 
The Lotos blows by every winding creek : 
All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone : 
Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone 
Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos- 
dust is blown. 
We have had enough of action, and of motion we, 
Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the 

surge was seething free. 
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam- 
fountains in the sea. 



3^2 The Lotos- Eaters. 

Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal 

mind, 
In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined 
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. 
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are 

hurl'd 
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are 

lightly curFd 
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleam- 
ing world : 
Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted 

lands, 
Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring 

deeps and fiery sands. 
Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking 

ships, and praying hands. 
But they smile, they find a music centred in a dole- 
ful song 
Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of 

wrong. 
Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are 

strong ; 
Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave 

the soil, 
Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring 

toil, 
Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and 

oil ; 
Till they perish and they suffer — some, 'tis whis- 

per'd — down in hell 
Suffer endless anguish, others in Blysian valleys 

dwell, 



The Lotos-Eaters. 



363 



Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. 
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the 

shore 
Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave 

and oar ; 
Oh rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander 

more. 




A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. 

I READ, before my eyelids dropt their shade, 
** The Legend of Good Women,'''' long ago 

Sung by the morning star of song, who made 
His music heard below ; 

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath 
Preluded those melodious bursts that fill 

The spacious times of great Elizabeth 
With sounds that echo still. 

And, for a while, the knowledge of his art 
Held me above the subject, as strong gales 

Hold swollen clouds from raining, tho' my heart. 
Brimful of those wild tales, 

Charged both mine eyes with tears. In every land 

I saw, wherever light illumineth. 
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand 

The downward slope to death. 

Those far-renowned brides of ancient song 
Peopled the hollow dark, like burning stars. 

And I heard sounds of insult, shame, and wrong, 
And trumpets blown for wars ; 

(364) 



A Dreavi of Fair Wonie^t. 365 ! 

^ i 

And clattering flints battered with clanging hoofs ; \ 

And I saw crowds in column'd sanctuaries ; \ 

And forms that pass'd at windows and on roofs 

Of marble palaces ; j 

Corpses across the threshold ; heroes tall j 

Dislodging pinnacle and parapet 
Upon the tortoise creeping to the wall ; 

Lances in ambush set ; , 

! 

And high shrine-doors burst thro' with heated blasts 

That run before the fluttering tongues of fire ; ] 

White surf wind-scatter'd over sails and masts, \ 

And ever climbing higher ; , , 

Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates, ' 

Scaffolds, still sheets of water, divers woes, ' 

Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron grates. 

And hush'd seraglios. i 

So shape chased shape as swift as, when to land ; 

Bluster the winds and tides the self-same way. 

Crisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand, * 

Torn from the fringe of spray. 1 

I started once, or seem'd to start in pain, ] 

Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak, i 

As when a great thought strikes along the brain, ^ 
And flushes all the cheek. 

And once my arm was lifted to hew down 
A cavalier from off" his saddle-bow, 



366 A Dreafn of Fair Women. 

That bore a lady from a leaguer'd town ; 
And then, I know not how, 

All those sharp fancies, by down-lapsing thought 
Streamed onward, lost their edges, and did creep 

Roll'd on each other, rounded, smooth'd, and 
brought 
Into the gulfs of sleep. 

At last methought that I had wander'd far 
In an old wood : fresh-wash'd in coolest dew 

The maiden splendours of the morning star 
Shook in the stedfast blue. 

Bnormous elm-tree-boles did stoop and lean 
Upon the dusky brushwood underneath 

Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest 
green. 
New from its silken sheath. 

The dim red morn had died, her journey done, 
And with dead lips smiled at the twilight plain. 

Half- fair n across the threshold of the sun, 
Never to rise again. 

There was no motion in the dumb dead air. 
Not any song of bird or sound of rill ; 

Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre 
Is not so deadly still 

As that wide forest. Growths of jasmine turned 
Their humid arms festooning tree to tree, 



A Dream of Fair Women. 367 

And at the root thro' lush green grasses bum'd 
The red anemone. 

I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I knew 
The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn 

On those long, rank, dark wood-walks drench'd in 
dew. 
Leading from lawn to lawn. 

The smell of violets, hidden in the green. 
Poured back into my empty soul and frame 

The times when I remember to have been 
Joyful and free from blame. 

And from within me a clear under-tone 

Thrill'd thro' mine ears in that unblissful clime, 

"Pass freely thro' : the wood is all thine own. 
Until the end of time.'" 

At length I saw a lady within call, 

Stiller than chisell'd marble standing there ; 

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, 
And most divinely fair. 

Her loveliness with shame and with surprise 
Froze my swift speech : she turning on my face 

The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes, 
Spoke slowly in her place. 

* ' I had great beauty : ask thou not my name : 
No one can be more wise than destiny. 



368 A Dream of Fair Women. 

Many drew swords and died. Where'er I came 
I brought calamity." 

" No marvel, sovereign lady : in fair field 
Myself for such a face had boldly died," 

I answer' d free ; and turning I appeal' d 
To one that stood beside. 

But she, with sick and scornful looks averse, 
To her full height her stately stature draws ; 

"My youth," she said, " was blasted with a curse : 
This woman was the cause. 

* ' I was cut off from hope in that sad place. 
Which men call'd Aulis in those iron years : 

My father held his hand upon his face ; 
I, blinded with my tears, 

** Still strove to speak : my voice was thick with 
sighs 

As in a dream. Dimly I could descry 
The stern black-bearded kings with wolfish eyes. 

Waiting to see me die. 

* * The high masts flicker'd as they lay afloat ; 

The crowds, the temples, waver'd, and the shore ; 
The bright death quiver'd at the victim's throat ; 

Touch'd ; and I knew no more." 

Whereto the other with a downward brow : 

" I would the white cold heavy-plunging foam, 

Whirl'd by the wind, had rolled me deep below, 
Then when I left my home." 



A Dream of Fair Women. 369 

Her'slow full words sank thro' the silence drear, 
As thunder drops fall on a sleeping sea : 

Sudden I heard a voice that cried. " Come here, 
That I may look on thee." 

I turning saw, throned on a fiery rise, 
One sitting on a crimson scarf unroU'd ; 

A queen, with swarthy cheeks and bold black eyes. 
Brow-bound with burning gold. 

She, flashing forth a haughty smile, began : 
*' I govern'd men by change, and so I sway'd 

All moods. 'Tis long since I have seen a man. 
Once, like the moon, I made 

* ' The ever-shifting currents of the blood 
According to my humour ebb and flow, 

I have no men to govern in this wood : 
That makes my only woe. 



' * Nay — yet it chafes me that I could not bend 
One will ; nor tame and tutor with mine eye 

That dull cold-blooded Csesar. Prythee, friend. 
Where is Mark Antony ? 

*' The man, my lover, with whom I rode sublime 
On Fortune's neck : we sat as God by God : 

The Nilus would have risen before his time 
And flooded at our nod. 



370 



A Dream of Fair Women. 



*' We drank the Libyan Sun to sleep, and lit 
lyamps which out-burn'd Canopus. O my life 

In Egypt ! O the dalliance and the wit, 
The flattery and the strife, 



" And the wild kiss, when fresh from war's alarms. 

My Hercules, my Roman Antony, 
My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms. 

Contented there to die ! 




"I DIED A QUEEN." 

' ' And there he died : and when I heard my name 
Sigh'd forth with life I would not brook my fear 

Of the other : with a worm I balk'd his fame. 
What else was left ? look here ! " 



(With that she tore her robe apart, and half 
The polish'd argent of her breast to sight 

Laid bare. Thereto she pointed with a laugh. 
Showing the aspick's bite.) 



A Dream of Fair Women. 371 

**I<(iied a Queen. The Roman soldier found 
Me lying dead, my crown about my brows, 

A name for ever ! — lying robed and crown'd, 
Worthy a Roman spouse." 



Her warbling voice, a lyre of widest range 
Struck by all passion, did fall down and glance 

From tone to tone, and glided thro' all change 
Of liveliest utterance. 



When she made pause I knew not for delight ; 

Because with sudden motion from the ground 
She raised her piercing orbs, and fill'd with light 

The interval of sound. 



Still with their fires Love tipt his keenest darts ; 

As once they drew into two burning rings 
All beams of Love, melting the mighty hearts 

Of captains and of kings. 

Slowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard 
A noise of some one coming thro' the lawn, 

And singing clearer than the crested bird 
That claps his wings at dawn . 

** The torrent brooks of hallow'd Israel 

From craggy hollows pouring, late and soon, 

Sound all night long, in falling thro' the dell. 
Far-heard beneath the moon. 



372 A Dream of Fair Women, 

" The balmy moon of blessed Israel 

Floods all the deep-blue gloom with beams 
divine : 
All night the splinter' d crags that wall the dell 

With spires of silver shine." 

As one that museth where broad sunshine laves 
The lawn by some cathedral, thro' the door 

Hearing the holy organ rolling waves 
Of sound on roof and floor 

Within, and anthem sung, is charm' d and tied 
To where he stands, — so stood I, when that flow 

Of music left the lips of her that died 
To save her father's vow ; 

The daughter of the warrior Gileadite, 
A maiden pure : as when she went along 

From Mizpeh's tower' d gate with welcome light, 
With timbrel and with song. 

My words leapt forth : * ' Heaven heads the count of 
crimes 

With that wild oath. ' ' She render'd answer high : 
* ' Not so, nor once alone ; a thousand times 

I would be born and die." 

** Single I grew, like some green plant, whose root 
Creeps to the garden water-pipes beneath, 

Feeding the flower ; but ere my fiov/er to fruit 
Changed, I was ripe for death. 



A Dream of Fair Women. 373 

" My God, my land, my father — these did move 
Me from my bliss of life, that Nature gave, 

lyower'd softly with a threefold cord of love 
Down to a silent grave. 

* * And I went mourning, * No fair Hebrew boy 
Shall smile away my maiden blame among 

The Hebrew mothers ' — emptied of all joy, 
lyeaving the dance and song, 



* Leaving the olive-gardens far below. 

Leaving the promise of my ibridal bower, 
The valleys of grape-loaded vines that glow 
Beneath the battled tower. 



" The light white cloud swam over us. Anon 
We heard the lion roaring from his den ; 

We saw the large white stars rise one by one. 
Or, from the darken 'd glen, 

* ' Saw God divide the night with flying flame, 
And thunder on the everlasting hills. 

I heard Him, for He spake, and grief became 
A solemn scorn of ills. 



"When the next moon was roll'd into the sky, 
Strength came to me that equall'd my desire. 

How beautiful a thing it was to die 
For God and for my sire ! 



374 ^ Dream of Fair Women. 

* ' It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, 
That I subdued me to my father's will ; 

Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell. 
Sweetens the spirit still. 

" Moreover it is written that my race 
Hew'd Ammon, hip and thigh, from Aroer 




"When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly." 

On Arnon unto Minneth." Here her face 
Glow'd, as I look'd at her. 

She locked her lips : she left me where I stood : 
''Glory to God," she sang, and past afar, 

Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood, 
Toward the morning-star. 



A Dream of Fair Women. 375 \ 

— — ■ I 

) 

l/osing her carol I stood pensively, ' 

As one that from a casement leans his head, \ 

"When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly, ; 

And the old year is dead. 

\ 
*' Alas ! alas !^' a low voice, full of care, i 

Murmur' d beside me : "Turn and look on me : j 

I am that Rosamond, whom men call fair, | 

If what I was I be. ! 

i 

1 
" Would I had been some maiden coarse and poor ! \ 

O me, that I should ever see the light ! 

Those dragon eyes of anger'd Eleanor ] 

Do hunt me, day and night." ] 

I 

She ceased in tears, fallen from hope and trust : 

To whom the Egyptian : " O, you tamely died ! I 

You should have clung to Fulvia's waist, and thrust 

The dagger thro' her side." i 

. i 

With that sharp sound the white dawn's creeping i 

beams, ] 

Stol'n to my brain, dissolved the mystery j 

Of folded sleep. The captain of my dreams j 

Ruled in the eastern sky. 1 

1 

i 

Morn broaden'd on the borders of the dark, i 

Ere I saw her, who clasp'd in her last trance i 

Her murder'd father's head, or Joan of Arc, 1 

A light of ancient France ; i 



376 A Dream of Fair Women. 



Or her who knew that I^ove can vanquish Death, 
Who kn-eeling, with one arm about her king, 

Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath, 
Sweet as new buds in Spring. 

No memory labours longer from the deep 
Gold-mines of thought to lift the hidden ore 

That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep 
To gather and tell o'er 

Each little sound and sight. With what dull pain 
Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to strike 

Into that wondrous track of dreams again ! 
But no two dreams are like. 

As when a soul laments, which hath been blest, 
Desiring what is mingled with past years, 

In yearnings that can never be exprest 
By signs or groans or tears ; 

Because all words, tho' cull'd with choicest art 
Failing to give the bitter of the sweet. 

Wither beneath the palate, and the heart 
Faints, faded by its heat. 



THE BIyACKBIRD. 

O BLACKBIRD ! sing ttie something well : 
While all the neighbours shoot thee round, 
I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, 

Where thou niay'st warble, eat and dwell. 

The espaliers and the standards all 

Are thine ; the range of lawn and park : 
The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark. 

All thine, against the garden wall. . 

Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring, 
Thy sole delight is, sitting still. 
With that gold dagger of thy bill 

To fret the summer jenneting. 

A golden bill ! the silver tongue. 

Cold February loved, is dry : 

Plenty corrupts the melody 
That made thee famous once, when young. 

And in the sultry garden-squares. 

Now thy flute-notes are changed to coarse, 

I hear thee not at all, or hoarse 
As when a hawker hawks his wares. 

(377) 



378 The Blackbird 



Take warning ! he that will not sing 
"While yon sun prospers in the blue, 
Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new, 

Caught in the frozen palms of Spring. 



THE DEATH OF THE OIvD YEAR. 



Fui^i, knee-deep lies the winter snow, 

And the winter winds are wearily sighing : \ 

Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, i 

And tread softly and speak low, . \ 

For the old year lies a-dying. j 

Old year, you must not die ; ; 

You came to us so readily, ; 

You lived with us so steadily, \ 

Old year, you shall not die. 

I 

i 

I 

He lieth still : he doth not move : ! 
He will not see the dawn of day. 

He hath no other life above. j 

He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, 1 

And the New-year will take 'em away. ] 

Old year, you must not go ; ■ 

So long as you have been with us, i 

Such joy as you have seen with us, | 

Old year, you shall not go. . 



He froth' d his bumpers to the brim ; 
A jollier year we shall not see. 

(379) 



380 The Death of the Old Year. . ; 

i 

But tho' his eyes are waxing dim, I 

And tho' his foes speak ill of him, ; 

He was a friend to me. \ 

Old year, you shall not die ; ' 

We did so laugh and cry with you, 

I've half a mind to die with you. 

Old year, if you must die. \ 

1 

He was full of joke and jest. 

But all his merry quips are o'er • 

To see him die, across the waste 

His son and heir doth ride post-haste, 

But he'll be dead before. \ 

Bvery one for his own. ■ 

The night is starry and cold, my friend, \ 

And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, \ 

Comes up to take his own. j 

How hard he breathes ! over the snow : 

I heard just now the crowing cock. 

The shadows flicker to and fro : 

The cricket chirps : the light burns low : ■ 

'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. i 

Shake hands, before you die. j 

Old year, we'll dearly rue for you : \ 

What is it we can do for you ? 

Speak out before you die. 



His face is growing sharp and thin. 
Alack ! our friend is gone. 




■ The light burns low : 'tis nearly twelve o'clock, 
(381) 



382 The Death of the Old Year. 

Close up his eyes : tie up his chin : 
Step from the corpse, and let him in 
That standeth there alone, 

And waiteth at the door. 

There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, 

And a new face at the door, my friend, 

A new face at the door. 



TO J. S. 

• 1 

Th:^ wind, that beats the mountain, blows \ 

More softly round the open wold. 

And gently conies the world to those j 

That are cast in gentle mould. ' 

And me this knowledge bolder made, 

Or else I had not dared to flow \ 

In these words toward you, and invade < 

Kven with a verse your holy woe. \ 

j 

'Tis strange that those we lean on most, ■] 

Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed, | 
Fall into shadow, soonest lost : 

Those we love first are taken first. , 

i 

God gives us love. Something to love 1 

He lends us ; but, when love is grown 

To ripeness, that on which it throve | 

Falls off, and love is left alone. ] 

This is the curse of time. Alas ! j 

In grief I am not all unlearnt ; j 

Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass ; j 

One went, who never hath return'd. i 

(383) ' 



384 To J. S. 

He will not smile — not speak to me 

Once more. Two years his chair is seen 

Bmpty before us. That was he 

Without whose life I had not been. 

Your loss is rarer ; for this star 

Rose with you thro' a4ittle arc 

Of Heaven, nor having wander'd far 
Shot on the sudden into dark. 

I knew your brother : his mute dust 
I honour and his living worth : 

A man more pure and bold and just 
Was never born into the earth. 

I have not looked upon you nigh, 

Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep. 

Great Nature is more wise than I : 
I will not tell you not to weep. 

And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew, 
Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, 

I will not even preach to you, 

"Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain.' 

Let Grief be her own mistress still. 

She loveth her own anguish deep 
More than much pleasure. Let her will 

Be done — to weep or not to weep. 

I will not say, " God's ordinance 

Of Death is blown in every wind ; ' ' 

For that is not a common chance 
That takes away a noble mind. 



To J. S. 385 

His memory long will live alone 

In all our hearts, as mournful light 

That broods above the fallen sun, 

And dwells in Heaven half the night. 

Vain solace ! Memory standing near 

Cast down her eyes, and in her throat 

Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear 
Dropt on the letters as I wrote. 

I wrote I know not what. In truth, 
How should I soothe you anyway, 

Who miss the brother of your youth ? 
Yet something I did wish to say : 

For he too was a friend to me : 

Both are my friends, and my true breast 
Bleedeth for both ; yet it may be 

That only silence suiteth best. 

Words weaker than your grief would make 
Grief more. 'Tvs ere better I should cease 

Although myself could almost take 

The place of him that sleeps in peace. 

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace : 

Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul, 
While the stars burn, the moons increase, 

And the great ages onward roll. 

Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. 

Nothing comes to thee new or strange. 
Sleep full of rest from head to feet ; 

I/ie still, dry dust, secure of change. 



ON A MOURNER. 

I. 

NaturK, so far as in her lies, 

Imitates God, and turns her face 
To every land beneath the skies, 




"The swamp." 



Counts nothing that she meets with base, 
But lives and loves in every place ; 

(386) 



On a Mourner. 387 



II. 

Fills out the homely quickset-screens, 
And makes the purple lilac ripe, 

Steps from her airy hill, and greens 

The swamp, where hums the dropping snipe, 
With moss and braided marish-pipe ; 



III. 

And on thy heart a finger lays. 

Saying, "Beat quicker, for the time 

Is pleasant, and the woods and ways 
Are pleasant, and the beech and lime 
Put forth and feel a gladder clime." 



IV. 

And murmurs of a deeper voice, 
Going before to some far shrine, 

Teach that sick heart the stronger choice, 
Till all thy life one way incline 

With one wide Will that closes thine. 



V. 

And when the zoning eve has died 
Where yon dark valleys wind forlorn, 

Come Hope and Memory, spouse and bride. 
From out the borders of the mom, 
With that fair child betwixt them born. 



1 

388 On a Mourner. ;j 

VI. ] 

1 
And when no mortal motion jars i 

The blackness round the tombing sod, \ 

Thro' silence and the trembling stars \ 

Comes Faith from tracts no feet have trod, i 

And Virtue, like a household god ) 

1 

VII. j 
Promising empire ; such as those ; 

Once heard at dead of night to greet \ 
Troy's wandering prince, so that he rose 

With sacrifice, while all the fleet i 

Had rest by stony hills of Crete. \ 



= YOU ASK ME, WHY, THO' IIvIv AT EASE." 

You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease. 
Within this region I subsist, 
Whose spirits falter in the mist, 

And languish for the purple seas. 

It is the land that freemen till. 

That sober-suited Freedom chose, 

The land, where girt with friends or foes 

A man may speak the thing he will ; 

A land of settled government, 

A land of just and old renown. 
Where freedom slowly broadens down 

From precedent to precedent : 

Where faction seldom gathers head, 

But by degrees to fullness wrought. 
The strength of some diffusive thought 

Hath time and space to work and spread. 

Should banded unions persecute 
Opinion, and induce a time 
When single thought is civil crime, 

And individual freedom mute ; 

(389) 



39° 



''You Ask Me, Why;' Etc. 



Tho' Power should make from land to land 
The name of Britain trebly great — 
Tho' every channel of the State 

Should fill and choke with golden sand — 

Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth, 
Wild wind ! I seek a warmer sky, 
And I wnll see before I die 

The palms and temples of the South 




Thjs palms and templhs of thk south." 



OF OLD SAT FREEDOM ON THE 
HEIGHTS." 



Of old sat Freedom on the heights, 

The thunders breaking at her feet 

Above her shook the starry lights : 
She heard the torrents meet. 



There in her place she did rejoice, 

Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, 
But fragments of her mighty voice 
Came rolling on the wind. 



Then stept she down thro' town and field 
To mingle with the human race, 

And part by part to men reveaFd 
The fullness of her face — 



Grave mother of majestic works, 

From her isle-altar gazing down, 

Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, 
And, King-like, wears the crown : 

(391) 



392 " Of Old Sat Freedom on the Heights. ^^ 

Her open eyes desire the truth. 

The wisdom of a thousand years 
Is in them. May perpetual j^outh 

Keep dry their light from tears ; 

That her fair form may stand and shine, 

Make bright our days and light our dreams, 

Turning to scorn with lips divine 
The falsehood of extremes ! 



"IvOVB THOU THY lyAND." i 

li 

IvOVE; thou thy land, with love far-brought 1 
From out the storied Past, and used 
Within the Present, but transfused 

Thro' future time by power of thought. ' 

True love turn'd round on fixed poles, : 

lyove, that endures not sordid ends, :^ 

For English natures, freemen, friends, j 

Thy brothers and immortal souls. i 

But pamper not a hasty time, ] 

Nor feed with crude imaginings I 

The herd, wild hearts and feeble wings J 

That every sophister can lime. i 

i 

Deliver not the tasks of might 

To weakness, neither hide the ray ■ 

From those, not blind, who wait for day, ) 

Tho' sitting girt with doubtful light. ; 

Make knowledge circle with the winds ; ] 

But let her herald, Reverence, fly \ 

Before her to whatever sky j 

Bear seed of men and growth of minds. j 

(393) i 



394 '^ Love Thou Thy Land.^* 

Watch what main-currents draw the years : 
Cut Prejudice against the grain : 
But gentle words are always gain : 

Regard the weakness of thy peers : 

Nor toil for title, place or touch, 

Of pension, neither count on praise : 
It grows to guerdon after-days : 

Nor deal in watch- words overmuch : 

Not clinging to some ancient saw ; 

Not mastered by some modern term ; 

Not swift nor slow to change, but firm : 
And in its season bring the law ; 

That from Discussion's lip may fall 

With Life, that, working strongly, binds 
Set in all lights by many minds, 
To close the interests of all. 

For Nature also, cold and warm, 
And moist and dry, devising long. 
Thro' many agents making strong, 

Matures the individual form. 

Meet is it changes should control 
Our being, lest we rust in ease. 
We all are changed by still degrees, 

All but the basis of the soul. 

So let the change which comes be free 
To ingroove itself with that which flies, 



''Love Thou Thy Land.''* 395 

And work, a joint of state, that plies 
Its office, moved with sympathy. 

A saying, hard to shape in act ; 

For all the past of Time reveals 

A bridal dawn of thunder-peals. 
Wherever Thought hath wedded Fact. 

Bv'n now we hear with inward strife 

A motion toiling in the gloom — 

The Spirit of the years to come 
Yearning to mix himself with Ivife. 

A slow-develop'd strength awaits 

Completion in a painful school ; 

Phantoms of other forms of rule, 
New Majesties of mighty States — 

The warders of the growing hour, 
But vague in vapour, hard to mark ; 
And round them sea and air are dark 

With great contrivances of Power. 

Of many changes, aptly join'd, 
Is bodied forth the second whole. 
Regard gradation, lest the soul 

Of Discord race the rising wind ; 

A wind to puff your idol-fires, 
And heap their ashes on the head ; 
To shame the boast so often made, 

That we are wiser than our sires. 



396 ''Love Thou Thy Land.'' 

Oh yet, if Nature's evil star 

Drive men in manhood, as in youth. 
To follow flying steps of Truth 

Across the brazen bridge of war — 

If New and Old, disastrous feud. 
Must ever shock, like armed foes, 
And this be true, till Time shall close, 

That Principles are rain'd in blood ; 

Not yet the wise of heart would cease 
To hold his hope thro' shame and guilt, 
But with his hand against the hilt, 

Would pace the troubled land, like Peace ; 

Not less, tho' dogs of Faction bay, 

Would serve his kind in deed and word, 
Certain, if knowledge bring the sword. 

That knowledge takes the sword away — 

Would love the gleams of good that broke 
From either side, nor veil his eyes : 
And if some dreadful need should rise 

Would strike, and firmly, and one stroke ■■ 

To-morrow yet would reap to-day. 
As we bear blossom of the dead ; 
Karn well the thrifty months, nor wed 

Raw Haste, half-sister to Delay, 



1 

1 

1 
ENGLAND AND AMERICA IN 1782. j 

O ^HOU, that sendest out the man | 

To rule by land and sea, ' 

Strong mother of a Lion-line, i 

Be proud of those strong sons of thine 

Who wrench'd their rights from thee ! } 

\ 

What wonder, if m noble heat 

Those men thine arms withstood, 
Retaught the lesson thou hadst taught, | 

And in thy spirit with thee fought — i 

Who sprang from English blood ! i 

! 

But Thou rejoice with liberal joy, ] 

Lift up thy rocky face, 1 

And shatter, when the storms are black, 1 

i 
In many a streaming torrent back, : 

The seas that shock thy base ! ] 

Whatever harmonies of law 

The growing world assume, ' 

Thy work is thine — The single note ! 

From that deep chord which Hampden smote | 

Will vibrate to the doom. 1 

(397) i 



THE GOOSK. 

I KNKW an old wife 
lean and poor, 
Her rags scarce held 
together ; 
There strode a Strang r 
to the door, 
And it was windy 
weather. 

He held a goose upon 
his arm, 
He utter' d rhyme i 
and reason, 
' ' Here, take the goose 
and keep you 
warm. 
It is a stormy sea- 
son." 

She caught the white |l 

goose by the leg, \ 
A goose — 'twas no 

great matter. 
The goose let fall a 

golden egg ■ 
With cackle and with 'i 

clatter. "i knew an old wife lean and poor 




(398) 



The Goose. 399 

She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf. 

And ran to tell her neighbours ; 
And bless' d herself, and cursed herself, 

And rested from her labours. 

And feeding high, and living soft, 

Grew plump and able bodied ; 
Until the grave churchwarden doff'd, 

The parson smirk'd and nodded. 

So sitting, served by man and maid. 

She felt her heart grow prouder : 
But ah ! the more the white goose laid 

It clack 'd and cackled louder. 

It clutter' d here, it chuckled there ; 

It stirr'd the old wife's mettle : 
She shifted in her elbow-chair, 

And hurrd the pan and kettle. 

" A quinsy choke thy cursed note ! " 

Then wax'd her anger stronger. 
'* Go, take the goose and wring her throat, 

I will not bear it longer." 

Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat ; 

Ran Gaffer, stumbled Gammer. 
The goose flew this way and flew that. 

And fiU'd the house with clamour. 

As head and heels upon the floor 

They flounder'd all together, 
There strode a stranger to the door, 

And it was windy weather : 



4oo The Goose. 

He took the goose upon his arm, 
He utter'd words of scorning : 

* ' So keep you cold, or keep you warm, 
It is a stormy morning." 

The wild wind rang from park and plain, 
And round the attics rumbled, 

Till all the tables danced again, 
And half the chimneys tumbled. 

The glass blew in, the fire blew out, 
The blast was hard and harder. 

Her cap blew off, her gown blew up. 
And a whirlwind cleared the larder : 

And while on all sides breaking loose 
Her household fled the danger, 

Quoth she, "The Devil take the goose, 
And God forget the stranger ! " 




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